Returning to Sanity
by AchillesTheGeek
Summary: The insanity that was Voldemort is over. The clean-up is about to begin. How will the Wizarding World return to sanity? EWE. Rated M for slash, adult themes, coarse language, maybe MPREG. WIP
1. Returning a Wand

_**Disclaimer: **J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters and their backstories. I am writing this story for fun and not profit._

**_Author's note: _**_The action starts straight after the Battle of Hogwarts. EWE._

* * *

**1. Returning a Wand  
**

Harry Potter sat on a bench on the edge of the Great Hall, surveying the scene. It was chaos. The only clear space was in the middle of the Hall: a black patch, where he had fought Voldemort, and killed him. There was rubble scattered everywhere else. There were clusters of people dotted throughout. Some were in groups mourning their dead. Some were couples or trios comforting each other. Some were sobbing, some weeping softly, some hysterical. But he seemed to be the only one alone. The only one who didn't seem to be expressing anything. Why was that? Voldemort was dead; the madman was out of his head for the first time he could remember. He should feel elated. But he didn't really feel anything at all.

The Weasleys were sobbing, still gathered around Fred's dead body. Part of him wanted to go to them, to give and receive comfort from his surrogate family. He was sorrowful that Fred was dead. But it was a muted feeling. Perhaps he would go to them soon. Perhaps he could mourn soon. But not yet. Not just now. Right now, he needed to be alone with his thoughts.

He was in a corner, away from anyone, and wrapped in his invisibility cloak, so there was no danger of him being felt or seen. For the first time since he defeated – no, let's be brutal, for the first time since he _killed_ Voldemort - he'd managed to get away with no-one watching him, no-one trying to congratulate him, which only made him feel awkward, or comfort him, which only made them feel awkward.

No, right now, being alone, watching, that was what he needed. Because he felt, as he had all his life, that he didn't quite belong. He'd never belonged at the Dursleys', there was no question of that. He'd sort of belonged at Hogwarts – he should have belonged as much as anyone else, he was a wizard, that's kind of all it took – but somehow, the expectations that everyone had of The Boy Who Lived made it hard to be himself. He'd sort of belonged in Gryffindor, but even there the Boy Who Lived tag had made a barrier at times between him and his housemates. He sort of belonged with the Weasleys – but a bit less now, what with Ron and Hermione so obviously a couple now; and now he felt they needed space without him to grieve for Fred.

Harry shook himself. He was getting into a blue funk. His sense of humour reared its head and he looked around to see, as he wryly told himself, if there were any more friends there that he didn't quite belong with.

But it wasn't a friend that drew his eye. No, all by themselves, huddled together, meekly sitting at a table at the side of the Great Hall, were three familiar silver heads: the Malfoys. They looked so down – dejected, defeated, dispirited. Part of Harry reacted angrily: why were they so glum? They hadn't lost anyone, they weren't even hurt…

Except of course, they had lost someone. Bellatrix was dead. However much Harry had hated her, she was Narcissa's sister, and the loss must have meant something to Narcissa, if no-one else. And they were hurt. They had been on the wrong side, and it had cost them the thing they probably valued most – their position in society. They were never going to have the same standing in the wizard world. Surely the war had proved to everyone who thought about it that this blood code that they lived by, this obsession with "pure-bloods" and "half-bloods" and "mud-bloods" and "blood traitors" was just blind, hideous prejudice, with no nobility behind it at all.

And the Malfoys hadn't been able to fight in the battle, it suddenly struck Harry, because they had no wands. Voldemort had borrowed Lucius's on the night Harry had left the Dursleys' house, and it had snapped against Harry's magic. Narcissa had lent Draco hers, and he had had it in the Room of Requirement when the Fiendfyre had swept through, claiming the wand and damn nearly his and Draco's lives. And Draco's wand? Well, Draco had lost that. To Harry. It was in his pocket.

No wonder they were down-hearted, then. For what was a wizard or witch without a wand? The thought galvanized Harry into action. He couldn't do anything for Lucius and Narcissa; in truth, he wasn't even sure he wanted to. But he could give Draco his wand back. And since he could, he would. He may not particularly like the Slytherin, but the two had saved each other's lives, and that kind of connected them. He remembered how bereft he had felt when his holly wand had broken; he didn't want Draco to feel that at all.

Quietly, quickly, he rose and made his way across the Great Hall. Somehow he managed to avoid tripping on anything, or being touched by any one; given how clumsy he could be, he was quite impressed with himself. He managed to sit on a bench near the three, next to a large stone column that had once supported a gallery of some sort. The gallery had been destroyed in the battle, but the column still stood, tall and proud. And useless.

Now, to get Malfoy's attention. He was about to hiss the name – it would be so familiar, he could hear the sound in his head: "_Malfoy_" - and then realized that of course there were three Malfoys there. He was going to have to do something he couldn't remember doing before. He was going to have to start a conversation with Draco Malfoy using his first name.

Well, he could do that. It wasn't the strangest thing to happen that day.

"_Psst! Draco!"_ he whispered.

The blond head whipped round, and of course didn't see anything. Harry was shocked at the expression on it. Malfoy, who had always seemed so self-assured, so certain of his own superiority, so clear about what was expected of him, looked lost. The soon-to-be-eighteen year old youth looked more like a frightened little boy of eleven.

"Potter?" he asked, with some heat in his voice. And then, since the other had used his first name, and why not respond in kind, he started again, softer and gentler: "Harry?"

"Yes, it's me." Harry responded, quietly, but glad that Draco – he couldn't think of him as Malfoy again, not just yet – had calmed a little. "Could we have a word? In private?"

Draco hesitated for a moment, then obviously decided that he had nothing left to lose, and replied, "Yes, all right, I'd like that. Actually, I have something to say to you, too.". He was surprised to hear himself say that; even more surprised that it was true.

"Come round behind the column. I don't fancy being seen by everyone just yet, and it'll give us a little cover."

Draco raised his eyebrows, but didn't say anything, and slowly got up and edged his way around. Behind the column was a small alcove created by the rubble from the destroyed gallery, and Harry – he should call him Potter again, but he just couldn't, not just yet – was standing there, having removed his cloak and draped it over his shoulder. Draco took a good look. The boy was near exhaustion. Fighting dark wizards, and defeating them, and rushing off to sort things out all over the place had obviously taken a huge toll, and Draco was willing to bet that no-one else would notice until he actually fell over. That funny feeling Draco had had about Potter – about Harry – for years flared into life again. He still couldn't decide exactly what it was. Compassion? Not quite; something like that, something he couldn't put his finger on, something completely unlike what he would ever have expected to feel for the boy who had been the bane of his school life. As always, it unnerved him. He didn't like things he couldn't understand, couldn't explain.

While Draco was thinking, Harry asked first. "OK, so what would you like to say?"

Draco took a deep breath. He had to do this. He'd known for an hour or more. Ever since he'd seen the Dark Lord die at this boy's hand, he'd needed to do it. Before, he hadn't been sure that he wanted to; but now this feeling had gripped him and he found, surprisingly, that he did want to, very much.

"Well, you saved us."

"Um, yeah, I'd noticed." Harry interrupted, a wry smirk on his face.

"Please, don't interrupt. I've got to say this."

Harry raised his eyebrows, but stayed silent.

"Harry, when you saved me from Fiendfyre, I've never been so grateful to see anyone. When you held me on the broom.. it made me feel like .. like he could be defeated. That you could do it. And then you did. And since then you've been rushed off your feet and sorted things out, and I bet no-one's actually said something everyone should be saying…"

Draco dried up for a second, but Harry remained silent. He wasn't sure where this was going, but the other boy was being more emotional, more open, hell, more honest than Harry had ever known him to be, and he didn't want it to stop just yet. Especially since Draco had called him Harry. That touched him in a way he found comforting; and just a little unsettling.

"And that's .. well .. thank you."

Draco could hardly get the last words out. This was no perfunctory, polite conversation; this was something he clearly really meant. There was water in both their eyes. For a moment, Harry wondered if Draco would cry. He almost hoped so; it might help them both to cry. But the famous Malfoy mask was never far away, and the boy managed to compose himself.

"Now, Potter, what did you want to say to me?"

Back to "Potter" then. Somehow, it hurt. But Harry was a Gryffindor, he had given himself a job to do, and he was going to do it.

"Well, um, yes, you see, I thought, er, you might want, um, this."

He might be a Gryffindor, but he was never going to be a smooth talker. But as he stuttered through his words, Harry offered the hawthorn wand, and Malfoy – damn, why were they back to surnames – opened his eyes wide and completely missed the chance to rib him about it.

"Really? You're – you're offering it back to me?"

"No, I thought I'd taunt you with it and then snatch it back," Harry said, heavily ironic. "Yes, of course I'm giving it back to you. It's yours, isn't it?"

Draco reached out slowly, and then at the last second grabbed the wand lightning-fast, exactly as if he expected Harry to snatch it away just as he had said. But Harry didn't move at all. He just watched, with a hopeful expression on his face.

Draco swished the wand to try it out. Nothing happened. He whispered "lumos", but there was no light. His face fell, and his chest constricted.

"Won't it work for you?" asked Harry, a note of concern in his voice.

Had it been anything else, if Draco had heard any reproach or taunt from Harry, he would have charged him, or run away. But the obvious compassion from his classmate was too much. He started sobbing.

"He forced me to take the mark," he said, through his sobs. "When he learned it was you at the manor, the Dark Lord forced me. And then just before the Battle of Hogwarts, he put a spell on us through the mark, to bind our magic so we couldn't betray him. And now that he's dead … it's like my magic is locked away, I can't use it any more."

Harry was no longer concerned, or compassionate. No, this outrage on another wizard made him see red. It was anger that coursed through him. He couldn't stand this. He wouldn't allow Voldemort to have this obscene victory. A wizard without magic was practically dead, broken, disconnected from himself and all of the magical realm. A wizard who didn't belong.

He had no idea how to stop it. No idea what spells would be required to break this curse. But then, having no idea had never stopped him before, and he did have the elder wand, the most powerful wand ever made. He whipped it out of its hiding place up his sleeve, and laid it on Draco's wand. He tried to think of a spell, but all that would come were words opposing the thoughts he had just been thinking.

"Life … Wholeness ... Connection ... Belonging …"

The wand in his right hand started to glow with hot magic. Clearly it knew what was needed, even if he didn't. He felt something hard Apparate into his left hand, and then the two wizards were suddenly engulfed in a huge cloud of white light. It hit the column, which crumbled to dust at its touch, and then spread out throughout the Hall.

Seconds, or minutes, or hours later, Draco couldn't tell, he became aware of two things. One was a huge noise erupting from the hall behind him. It sounded … joyous? How could that be? But he had no time to think about it, because he was also aware of Potter falling towards him. He reached out his arms and broke the boy's fall; at the same time, without even thinking about it, without saying a word, he Summoned the bench Potter had been sitting on, so it would break their fall as he fell onto it; and as an afterthought, Transfigured it into a chaise longue.

Then it hit him. With an impact that he imagined a freight train at full speed would have. _He had used his magic!_ It was back! And stronger than ever – he had never been particularly good at wordless magic, but he had just used it twice, and it had worked perfectly. He turned round to look at the chaise longue and realized that it was a beautiful green – exactly the colour of Potter's eyes – and it made him smile.

All of this happened as he fell backwards onto the chaise, supporting the other boy, and he magically moved Harry's legs onto the chaise so he could lie comfortably with his head in Draco's lap.

Harry was completely unaware of all of this. As the whiteness spread out, he finally surrendered to the exhaustion he felt, and fell unconscious and unknowing into Draco's arms.

* * *

_**Author's note: **OK, you know the drill: if you want more, review. If you liked it, review. If you don't want more, review. If you hated it, review._

_Oh, and did I say: review! Please?_


	2. Returning to the Bosom of the Family

**2. Returning to the Bosom of the Family**

Lucius Malfoy was staring at his fingernails with a slightly bored expression on his face, seemingly indifferent to the chaos around him and looking every inch the calm, elegant patriarch. But the look was pure deception. Lucius was a past master at masking his feelings, and observing everything going on around him without seeming to. The icy exterior he presented hid a seething war inside: inside, his intellect was fighting with a mass of emotions: predominantly anger and hatred.

He was angry with Potter for defeating the Dark Lord, his Lord. He hated it that a seventeen year old boy – though Potter was legally an adult in the wizarding world, he was still a boy to Lucius – had managed to defeat the greatest Dark Wizard of the age with little more than a charm every wizard knew from nursery days. His rational mind knew that the anger and hatred were stupid: in the end, Voldemort had proved to be a disaster, and his defeat was the only way out for any of them. He was showing advanced signs of insanity and had he won life would have rapidly become impossible for everyone. Lucius could see that. He also knew that it had taken more than a spell: Potter had the guts to stand up to Voldemort, something Lucius never managed to do. But the logic, though inescapable, could not touch his anger at all. His mind applauded Potter's bravery at the same time as it inflamed his anger.

And then of course he was angry with the Dark Lord. And he hated him too. This anger and hatred were perhaps more logical: the Dark Lord had failed, and that failure was going to affect the Malfoy name. Failure was simply unacceptable, and disgrace unthinkable, but he was facing both of them. On the other hand, the man was dead, there was nothing that could be done about it, so holding on to the rage was futile. Not that that helped at all.

And that in turn led naturally to his anger with himself. This was the most logical of all. How could he have been so blind, so arrogant as not to see that they would end up in this state? Where this, the least evil outcome of all, involved shame and failure? Not just for the pure-blood cause, but for the Malfoys as a family?

And it wasn't just prestige that they had lost. He had been using his spare wand until the battle, but it was next to useless; wandless magic had been easier and more effective. But now his magic was locked away. He was a wizard without magic, no better than a squib. He'd rather be dead. He hated Voldemort for that. He hated himself for not stopping it from happening. He should have stood up to the Dark Lord. He should have demanded his trust. But he didn't and so now he couldn't even use a simple _expelliarmus_. The irony of the thought did not escape him: the simple charm the schoolboy Potter killed the greatest dark wizard ever with was beyond him, a mature and seasoned wizard.

He had to find some way to fix this. He had to get his emotions under control, and working in harness with his mind. He had to return to the equilibrium that had sustained him so well before in life, for the sake of the family name. For Narcissa. Above all, for the future: for Draco.

Thinking of his son naturally made him turn round to look at him. Which is how he came to be looking straight at the pillar as it disintegrated to dust, and the bright white light hit him full on and slammed him into the table.

THE PAIN! Oh the pain! He didn't think he would survive it. It coursed through him, like a million needles attacking his whole body all at once, as though some malicious angel had decided to use him as a pincushion. It seemed to last forever, but it couldn't actually have been even a minute before it started to pass away. Except for his arm, where it became hot … so hot … burning … agonizing ... Only his iron self-control stopped him from screaming out as it felt like his skin was being ripped off. And then there was nothing … and then all of his nerves started to tingle. It was wonderfully refreshing, and he felt alive again, for the first time since his wand had been destroyed.

He was buoyed by a sudden hope. _Could it be?_ He pulled out the previously useless wand and cast a Levitatum spell on the table he had been leaning against. It rose six inches in the air, remaining there steadily until he lowered his wand and it settled back smoothly to the ground.

_It was!_ His magic was back.

Next to him, he heard Narcissa gasp, and turned to see what the matter was. He was greeted with a truly bizarre sight. In this castle filled with rubble, with gaping holes in the walls, making it look exactly like it was: a war-zone, there in front of him was a chaise longue that would not be out of place in the most elegant salon in Paris. On it, lounging as though he had not a care in the world, was his son. And in his arms, head resting on his shoulder, was Harry Potter.

* * *

Draco wondered what all the noise was about, but he didn't look up yet. No, he still had Harry's head in his lap – he batted away the thought that he should call him Potter, not when you're cuddling him and, frankly, scarily, enjoying it – and it was getting a bit uncomfortable. He wasn't embarrassed about the physical touch, which would have shocked him at any other time; in fact, he decided, he was going to hold on to Harry as long as he could. Probably due to that feeling he didn't understand, which had been increased a hundredfold by the bright light (which he didn't understand either; one problem at a time, though). But there was a tightness in his trousers that he didn't want to think about and certainly didn't want Harry to find out about. Yet.

So he carefully manoeuvered the raven-haired boy until he was holding him in his arms, away from the … swelling. Potter awake, he mused, was basically an obnoxious git, but Potter asleep was simply adorable, and he reached out to stroke the auburn hair that stuck out like it always did. Potter's hair always looked like he'd just got out of bed and Draco secretly had always wanted to tame it, to make it behave. He'd always wondered what it felt like, and now that he had the opportunity to find out, he couldn't believe how smooth it was under his fingers.

His attention was caught by a not particularly discreet cough, and he looked up to see both of his parents looking at him. He smiled, and conjured two leather armchairs for them. And, as an afterthought, some silk screens behind them, to give a little privacy. Lucius raised his eyebrow; even he couldn't quite have explained quite why: whether because the two boys were together, or the fact that Draco had his magic back and was already accustomed to it, or the lazy precision of Draco's conjuring that had, without obvious effort, created the chairs to tone perfectly with the chaise-longue. If his son kept that up, they'd have a whole new matching set of furniture for the Paris apartment. Actually, it was a whole set of shocking thoughts and he'd rather not have any of them.

Lucius and Narcissa sat down; Lucius was secretly proud of the incredible poise that Narcissa showed as she did so, as if this really were a salon and not a battlefield that they were sitting in, and she were the chatelaine rather than an uninvited guest. But he couldn't let that pride affect him now. He had a situation to deal with. He laced his fingers together in front of him and turned to his son.

His son who, he realized with yet another slight shock, seemed to have grown up a lot in the last few hours. Draco was holding Potter, yes; it was disturbing, yes; but the look in Draco's eyes said that he knew quite well he would be disapproved of, and he didn't care. Interesting. This wasn't the same boy who had refused to look him in the eye when they'd found him that morning. Something had changed.

"So, Draco," Lucius said, deciding on the direct approach, "why exactly are you hugging Mr. Potter?"

Draco looked at him. If looks could maim, this one would be as bad as the Crucio curse. Lucius glowered back, but inside he was gleeful. _At last, my little boy is growing up! Shame it took Potter for him to do it._

"Because he fell on me, father." Draco answered, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. "He was absolutely exhausted, and even so he still wanted to give me my wand back, and then when he learnt our magic didn't work, he went mental and fixed that too. He may have a hero complex a mile high, but I think he deserves some rest, and at the moment he seems comfortable here, so we're staying here till he wakes up."

Narcissa looked from one of her men to the other with concern in her eyes. Draco had never so openly challenged his father's authority. Not that it would have sounded like a challenge to someone outside the family, but they all knew how things worked between them, and that this answer was insolent to the point of open rebellion. This, coming on top of Voldemort, could split the family irrevocably. Surely Lucius could not stand for this sort of attitude? Narcissa trembled inwardly waiting for his response.

And then it came.

Lucius inclined his head. Just a tiny movement. No words, no change of expression; anyone else might have missed it completely. But they knew what it meant. Lucius had accepted his son's right to decide what to do for himself. He was giving Draco his blessing. In any other family, there might have been hugs and kisses and back-slapping. But for the Malfoys, that slight nod was enough. Their family was knit together again, tighter than ever it had been since Voldemort had come into their lives.

Narcissa let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. Draco's expression changed radically – he smiled, and it was the beautiful, simple, innocent, happy smile of a child who has been praised by his father. Narcissa wondered idly how he would react if Lucius ever did praise him.

"That was very good of him, and I agree that he looks comfortable. And I must congratulate you on your excellent taste in furnishings."

Narcissa had her answer: her son's face lit up, almost as if that bright light had come back. She thought it was one of the most beautiful things she had ever seen.

* * *

The Malfoys would have liked that moment to last forever, but of course that was never going to happen. The noise behind them, which they had ignored till now, dropped a little. And then it happened.

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING TO HARRY, FERRET?"

With these words, Ron Weasley ran towards them, with wand outstretched and Hermione Granger rushing behind him.

Draco looked at him with his haughtiest Malfoy expression.

"I'm holding him, Weasley," he drawled, and then continued in his most arrogant tones, "I should have thought that was obvious, even to you. He's exhausted, he fell asleep on me, and I'm holding him till he wakes up. I'm sure you wouldn't want him to fall on the floor and hurt himself?"

In hindsight, that might not have been the wisest thing to say to Ron. He wasn't that good at controlling his temper, he was more the "curse first and ask questions later" type, and Malfoy's tone made him see red.

"STUPEFY!" He yelled, pointing straight at the astonished Draco Malfoy.

But the spell never reached him. About a foot from its target, it hit a wall of glowing colours swirled together. There was emerald green, and silver, and red. As they glowed, the orange Stupefy spell was absorbed into them, and then the colours disappeared as though they had never been.

Everyone stood silent, transfixed by this beauty. Everyone was still. Except one: Harry Potter began to stir.

* * *

Harry shifted back into consciousness. He was still dog-tired, but something was vibrating against his magic, and his sense of self-preservation woke him. The first thing he was aware of was that he was being held in someone's arms. And it was warm, and comfortable. He felt like whoever held him actually wanted him to be there. More, that he fitted there. That he belonged.

He wondered how he got there, and went back over the events in his mind. There had been the chat with Malfoy, handing back the wand, and learning about Voldemort's curse. He'd thought about all the destruction that the war had caused – all those wizards who had lost their lives, leaving behind broken connections, people who weren't finished with them yet. He'd remembered Snape, who was still needed by the school and was never going to be honoured properly for his actions in the war. He'd remembered Fred, whose death was going to be a body-blow to George; he'd remembered Tonk and Remus, and how their death meant that Teddy would grow up without his parents, just like Harry had.

And something in him had snapped. He couldn't accept this. He hadn't gone through death just to leave people in suffering So he'd used the Elder wand. Then what? Ah, yes, something had materialised in his other hand. What was it, he wondered, and ran his fingers over it. A stone. A rather familiar stone.

The stone that he had dropped in the forest just before Voldemort had cast Avada Kedavra on him.

For some reason, the Elder wand had called the Resurrection Stone to him. And then there had been that bright light, and he'd fallen towards the person he was chatting to.

Which must mean that the person holding him now, the person he felt wanted by and a sense of belonging with, was Draco Malfoy. And that was nearly the strangest thing of the day. But only nearly; because the strangest thing had to be that he didn't feel that he minded one bit.

Having sorted what had happened before out in his mind, he felt ready to find out what was going on now. He opened his eyes, and looked up into grey eyes looking down at him with concern. Concern that was echoed in the boy's words to him, spoken very quietly so only he would hear:

"You need some more sleep, Harry."

Harry gave him a small smile. Draco was right, and they both knew it, but there wasn't time.

"And hello to you, too." he said, as he straightened up and sat next to him, looking around at the Malfoys and Weasleys ranged in a semicircle in front of him. Something was missing. Where was the column they'd hid behind? Come to think of it, what was the column doing there in the first place? It must have supported something, but he didn't remember any sort of structure above the Great Hall. Well, a worry for later, perhaps.

"What's been going on while I had my little nap?"

Ron's face was as red as a beetroot, and he exploded into words.

"What's going on? WHAT'S GOING ON? We're wondering the same thing, Harry! Why are you here with the ferret? Why didn't you come over to us? Have they hurt you?" He turned to the Malfoys; "if you've harmed one hair on his head –"

"Yes thank you, _Ronald_, we get the idea," said Draco, stressing Ron's first name like you would to an unruly child. "How about we all take a seat and discuss this like civilized people?"

With that, Draco conjured some more seats: stools and benches for his peers, and a lovely chintz two-seater settee for Arthur and Molly Weasley. Lucius repressed a smirk, but looked at his son admiringly, impressed with the composure he'd shown in defusing Ron Weasley's baiting, and the creative choices and fine control shown in the seating.

Molly took up the conversation immediately, obviously not impressed by Ron's outburst and anxious to stop a repeat. "Ronald Weasley, you will apologize to Draco Malfoy for trying to hex him."

"Sorry, Draco," Ron mumbled, not particularly convincingly.

"Apology accepted," said Draco, in a firm, friendly voice, much to everyone's surprise.

Molly continued, "But Ron is right, Harry, we were concerned that you didn't come over to us."

"I'm sorry, Molly, but I thought you guys needed some space of your own, I didn't want to impose …"

The words were scarcely out of Harry's mouth before Molly was out of the chair, moving with that bustling energy her children knew so well, wrapping Harry in a huge hug.

"Harry Potter, you know I think of you as one of my sons. You could never be an imposition! Of course we wanted you there, to be part of us, to hug you like this." Harry started murmuring about not being necessary, and Molly cut him off straight away with, "of course you needed it. Look at you now, having been supported by Draco Malfoy. And thank you for that, too, Draco."

"That's my pleasure, Mrs. Weasley," Draco replied, in a butter-wouldn't-melt-in-my-mouth tone of voice. In truth, he was touched. He couldn't remember a Weasley talking to him with such obvious appreciation before.

Arthur, sensing that things were getting a bit awkward, piped up.

"Well that's all good, but we still need to know what happened, Harry. Just what was that bright light all about? And when Ron tried to hex Draco" – here Arthur looked daggers at his youngest son – " there was some sort of barrier, with strange colours."

Harry explained about Draco's hawthorn wand and how the Elder wand brought its power back. He was careful not to mention the curse, because he thought that was for the Malfoys to mention if they wanted to; and he didn't mention the Resurrection Stone either, and even managed to put it into his pocket without anyone seeing. At least, he thought no-one saw.

Arthur quizzed him about the exact spell he'd used to make the wand work again; he explained that there hadn't really been a spell, just the words that were going through his head. He was a little surprised that Arthur then insisted on knowing exactly what the words were; what was so important, he wondered?

The colours he couldn't explain at all.

"I have a theory," said Lucius. "I think this may be the phenomenon called a Haussmann shield."

Arthur gave a sharp breath out. "Really? But that requires –-"

"—further investigation," said Lucius, cutting him off swiftly and efficiently. "I think there may be some reference works in the Manor that will shed some light."

"Yes, well, if you would look into that, that would be fine," said Arthur, taking the hint to shut up about it for now.

"It would be my pleasure. And I would be delighted if perhaps Miss Granger would assist me?"

There was a sharp intake of breath. The Weasleys couldn't believe Lucius would suggest Hermione go back to the manor after what happened last time; Hermione couldn't believe she was being invited into the famous Malfoy library, which she'd longed to visit since Draco had bragged about it in first year.

"Yes, well, perhaps we could discuss that later," said Mrs Weasley, brightly defusing the issue. She turned her gaze back on her adopted son. "Well, Harry, I hope we've convinced you that you belong in our family and you're always welcome around us?"

All the Weasleys smiled brilliantly at Harry at this point, and he found himself full of a happy feeling of being accepted by them. He looked at each of them in turn. When he saw George, he had a bit of a shock.

"George, your ear is healed!" he exclaimed.

"That's not the half of it," said a familiar voice from behind the screen, and another Weasley son appeared.

Harry did a double-take. Hang on, no, it couldn't be … It was! … And then he realized this must be what all the noise was about and why they were so interested in the bright light and his words, as his face threatened to split in half with the force of the grin on it.

* * *

_**Author's Note: ** This chapter was actually going to be a little filler because I forgot a small detail, but it's ended up being longer than the first! Many thanks to Buford and MirrorFlower and DarkWind for their reviews, and to those who have subscribed. I hope you enjoy this chapter! Please let me know what you think._


	3. Returning to Life

**3. Returning to Life**

Fred Weasley had been rather enjoying the Battle of Hogwarts. It was utterly mental and chaotic, which suited his style to a tee. Then Percy had come and fought alongside him. He couldn't have guessed how much that would mean to him. Percy had even made a joke about resigning from the ministry! Percy! A joke!

He'd always said that when Percy made a joke, the world would end. And then, of course, for him, it had. Fate, it seemed, had a wicked sense of irony. One little explosion, he mused, could ruin your whole day. Here he was then, dead, and suddenly he wasn't enjoying things half so much. He could just see his family beneath him, gathered around what must be his dead body. There were his parents, wailing; of course they would, he couldn't fault them for that, even if it was embarrassing. There was his twin, Holey-Head George, beside himself with grief, and Fred shuddered as he realized that the two who had never been apart before could never be together again. There were a few other people gathered around, Hermione Granger of course, comforting his little brother, "poor ickle Ronnikins"; and Neville Longbottom, and …. Hang on a minute, what was that look on Neville's face? Fred knew that look - he'd practised it enough; like a love-sick cow, he thought. Neville had fallen for someone, hard. He followed his line of sight and saw who Neville was fixated on. Hmm, he thought, his mischievous matchmaking coming to the fore. Yep, that'll work. He longed to be there to give a helping hand.

But he couldn't be there. So, he might as well be here, then. He had a bit of a look round. As he did so, the place seemed to shimmer and change; and then he recognised it. It was quite a shock to see that he was in Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, his shop – well, his and George's - though it was cleaner and brighter than he had ever known it. Or was it the shop? No, it couldn't be. His shop would be filled with noise and people. This place was so very like it, but empty and quiet.

He looked round, but only confirmed that there was no-one about and nothing much of interest to see. The door at the back of the shop began to glow, and suddenly he knew he was supposed to go through it. And he knew for certain that once he did, he was never coming back. The grief that was still with him for the loss of his brother overwhelmed him, and he fell to the floor, sobbing. He knew he had to go on. But not yet.

Later – he had no idea how much later, there was no clock, and nothing much seemed to happen, so there was no way to get a sense of time – he cocked his head. Something **was** about to happen. He could feel it. Something that wasn't supposed to happen. But things that weren't supposed to happen were his forte, his reason for being, so a delicious sense of anticipation rose up in him. He stood up, just as the shop was suddenly filled with light. He'd thought it bright before, but that was nothing compared to this, and reflexively he shut his eyes as a feeling of warmth flooded into him.

And suddenly he was on his back. On a hard floor. A cold, hard, very uncomfortable floor. The shop's floor was wood, but this was much harder – stone, perhaps? Yes, it had to be stone. He could feel the edges of the individual flagstones that made up the floor poking into him.

He could feel. That was different. He pulled himself up. "Who had the bright idea to put me here on this cold, hard floor?" he whinged.

There was absolute silence for a couple of seconds. Then all hell broke loose.

* * *

If Fred had ever wondered what it would be like to be drowned in quicksand, he thought, he now knew. The family had hugged him so tight he was afraid he might die all over again. Molly was in tears, of course, shouting and hooting incoherently. His normally calm and quiet father was just about jumping out of his skin with excitement, and his siblings were no better. But the most important, by a long way, was George, who had wrapped his arm around his twin with an unspoken promise never to let him go again. It touched Fred more than he would ever be able to say.

Kingsley Shacklebolt was there too, drawn by the commotion no doubt, and saw that Fred was being swamped, so helped George get him on his feet. Kingsley seemed to have taken in what had happened without needing to ask lots of questions, and Fred was really glad for that as he was swaying a bit and probably couldn't have managed a conversation. He was grateful for the two men holding him up and not asking questions as his circulation sorted itself out and the pins and needles he'd felt while getting up started to fade.

Then things started to quiet down a bit. After all, even the Weasleys could only be euphoric for so long. Sooner or later, they'd have to take stock of the things going on around them. The bubble was well and truly burst when Ron happened to look round and spy something on the other side of the hall. He bellowed.

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING TO HARRY, FERRET?"

With that, the family, including Kingsley, seemed to charge over. Fred took the opportunity to stand up tall and stretch himself a bit, and grabbed Neville before he could rush off too.

"Just a little word, mate," he said. Then, as his twin was still clinging to him for dear life, "George, you go on, I just want a quick word with Neville here, OK?"

George didn't look too sure, but left anyway. When he got over to the others, he looked back to see Fred and Neville coming along too. Fred had a huge grin on his face, and Neville looked as red as a beetroot. George thought he looked adorable, and wondered how Fred had got him like that. Probably talking about sex, that'd do it. A story for later. He looked at his brother, then arched his eyebrow at the screen as they both had the same thought.

"Quick, Neville, Kingsley, hide behind here. Don't want to give the game away too soon," Fred hissed, and so the three of them crounched behind the silk screen Draco had conjured and listened to Harry telling about the words he'd used to fix things.

"Life… " Harry said. Fred chuckled to himself very quietly. _You have no idea what that's done, mate!_ He looked over at his brother, who had an identical grin to his. As always.

"Wholeness…" And suddenly, Fred realized that George wasn't a Holey-Head any more. The ear that had been cut off by a Death-Eater on Harry's birthday was now as good as new. Fred was gobsmacked. The ear had been removed by a very powerful curse, and no-one had had the magic to restore it. But by the sound of it, Harry had managed to. It figured.

He'd missed a bit while he'd been noticing this. Lucius was saying something about a "House something" shield. He couldn't quite follow it, but his father looked all ears. He'd quiz him later.

Then it got around to hugs and stuff, and Harry noticed that George's ear was healed. Fred couldn't hide any longer. "That's not the half of it," he said, and went in front of the screen.

He'd hoped to surprise Harry. Shock would be nearer the mark. If the boy smiled any wider, his head would split in two. Actually, that wasn't such a nice image. Best just to concentrate on his 'little brother' then. He grabbed him into a huge hug. George joined in; it was wonderful.

* * *

"While it is amazing that Fred has somehow been restored to us, …" Kingsley started. Fred and George both groaned inwardly; he was going to be all politician-speak, they just knew it. They let go of Harry, and sat down. They both managed to sit on the same bench, rather than ask Draco Malfoy to conjure another seat.

Harry went back to the chaise longue.

"Do you mind if –" he started.

"Oh," said Draco, expecting Harry to be embarrassed to sit with him, and finding himself annoyed by it, "You want me to conjure you a chair, I take it?"

"Um, no, I was hoping you wouldn't mind if I sat with you."

Draco was stunned. He didn't trust his voice at all, and merely signalled his agreement. Harry sat down next to him. The two former enemies should have found it very awkward; but in truth they both felt it had been uncomfortable to be apart, and better when seated together; though they would both have died rather than admit it to the other.

None of the Weasleys seemed to notice this little exchange, but it did not go unremarked entirely. Lucius Malfoy was watching them carefully and, though his face had its mask, with interest that was obvious to Hermione Granger. More than ever, she wanted to get him alone in the Manor and discuss just exactly what was going on between the two boys. Lucius knew a lot more than he was letting on. And just what was this Haussmann shield all about?

Oblivious, Kingsley continued: "As Acting Minister of Magic, I do have to make some plans to go on with."

He was looking particularly at Lucius Malfoy as he went on, "Obviously there will be inquiries and trials and formal process; for the moment though, we do have to consider safety – both yours and the wider Wizarding world's. We can't allow people bearing the dark mark to wander about freely, it would send entirely the wrong message."

'You don't have to," Lucius said, softly. He rolled up his sleeve to expose his marked arm. Except it wasn't. The mark had entirely gone. Harry gasped, and looked at Draco, whose eyes went wide as he too rolled up his sleeve.

There was no mark on his arm.

Kingsley let out a low whistle, and turned to Harry. "Looks like you've done it again, Harry."

Harry was stunned. After Kingsley's comment, everyone was looking at him, and he felt like a museum exhibit in glass jar. All of his life, attention had been a bad thing. The Dursleys would beat him if he got their attention. The press (Rita Skeeter came to mind) would berate him. His teachers (and in his mind he saw Umbridge's toad-like face) would belittle him. No, he didn't want the attention.

What had he done now? And what could he do about it? All he had wanted was to give the Malfoys back their magic. It had seemed just the obvious and right thing to do. But somehow it had gone beyond that. He hadn't thought much about the future, not expecting to survive, but if he did, he'd hoped to go back to The Burrow with the Weasleys and have a quiet life. He'd sort of assumed he and Ginny would get back together and get married, the Malfoys would go off and do their thing, and they'd maybe nod heads on the railway platform when they sent their children to Hogwarts.

But like everything with him, it had all escalated way out of control. He couldn't work out what to do. He didn't know what to say, how to answer, and all of the stress of the last few days with little food and no sleep while being chased by Death-Eaters and trying to keep everyone safe was catching up with him. He started to say something – anything – but all that came out were sobs. He dissolved into incoherence as tears ran down his face, and then strong arms wrapped him up and someone was making soothing noises and mercifully he slipped out of consciousness again.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **__Thanks to Ank-sunamuhn80, OrnateDragon, Summerseve5375 and drarrypotterblack for "favoriting" my story and to AcadianProud, Dora Malena, drarrypotterblack, MirrorFlower and DarkWind, ShadowLover2399, Summerseve5375, and xxxmarianne for subscribing to alerts. I hope you enjoy this chapter! _

_As always, reviews are treasured; thanks to drarrypotterblack and MirrorFlower and DarkWind for their kind comments on chapter 2._


	4. Returning to Wakefulness

**4. Returning to Wakefulness.**

_Someone was trying to cut him in half. He screamed, but no words seemed to come. There were no sounds that could express this pain. A guilty thought flashed through his mind: was this how Draco had felt when he had cast Sectumsempra on him? But it was driven out as the pain increased, feeling like hot needles being dragged across his skin. It felt like he was on fire._

_Abruptly, the pain stopped and the hot feeling left. Now he felt cold and bereft. It was as if half of him had been ripped away, and the half that was gone held all the warmth. He could still feel it, somehow, thrashing; a feeling of anger that was not his own. He started to howl, and then someone forced something down his throat and he was drowning, drowning and he couldn't yell any more and then he lost his footing and fell into darkness…_

Harrywoke sobbing in a cold sweat. A dream, then, but frighteningly real. He looked up at the ceiling and recognised it at once. After all, he had looked up at the canopy above his four-poster bed in Gryffindor Tower pretty much every school morning since he was eleven. Someone who knew him well must have put him in his old bed.

"What time is it, I wonder?" he said, half to himself.

"Just after four o'clock in the afternoon," said an elegant, refined, and very melodious voice. He looked round to see Narcissa Malfoy eyeing him with a look that was half the calm, arrogant expression he had expected, and half he wasn't sure what. Distrusting, perhaps. Uncertain, certainly. Which was quite surprising.

What on Earth was he going to say to her? He nervously cleared his throat.

"Mrs Malfoy, it's kind of you to watch over me," he said.

She nodded, regally. "It was generally agreed that you should not be left alone once you and Draco were brought up here, Mr Potter."

"Harry," he interjected.

"Mr Potter," she replied. So, this was going to stay formal. Evidently, he was still a mere half-blood to her. Damn, Harry thought. He'd hoped that winning the war would get rid of that. Obviously, it wasn't that simple.

"The Weasleys wanted to go back to the Burrow at two o'clock, and acting Headmistress Minerva McGonagall wanted someone familiar to you to be present when you awoke, so I agreed to sit with you. You might be interested to know that the Aurors were not at all in favour of this arrangement. They were most concerned that I was with you. Two of them are stationed at the door, just in case I try anything, but Minerva insisted that I could be trusted and was not to be hovered over."

This did not surprise Harry at all; of course the Aurors would think that the wife and mother of Death Eaters couldn't be trusted and insist on keeping a watch on her; and of course the Headmistress, knowing better, was not going to let them. If it hadn't been for his nightmare on waking, he might even have found it all amusing.

There was definitely something she was not telling him. Where was Draco now? Harry could tell, without looking, that he wasn't in the room; he couldn't have said how he knew, he just did. And surely, without something having happened between mother and son, Narcissa Malfoy would never choose to be with him rather than Draco.

"Thank you," he said, to cover her statement generally. He wanted information, it would not be a good idea to get on the wrong side of her. "Um, where is Draco now?"

Narcissa sighed. She did not miss his use of "Draco" rather than "Malfoy", and she knew perfectly well how unusual that was.

"My son had fallen asleep with you; the night had obviously taken a heavier toll than we thought."

Harry inwardly snorted at the implication that merely being in a fight to the death and having no sleep for at least a couple of nights was not in itself sufficient reason for a Malfoy to need a nap. But he didn't make any sound or interrupt.

"When he woke up, he was a bit disoriented and not particularly agreeable, so he went down to talk to his friends in Slytherin house."

Harry sat up, swinging himself out of the bedclothes, and looked her in the eye. No, he decided, she wasn't going to fob him off.

"What **exactly** did he say?" he said, putting so much stress on the word 'exactly' that Narcissa could not miss the implication that he didn't believe her summary to be the whole truth. He could see the battle going on inside her head. He had a pretty good idea what it was about: she didn't trust Draco and him to be together for some reason, so he put on his most trustworthy face, looked her straight in the eye, and continued.

"Mrs Malfoy I assure you, I only want your son to be free to exercise his magic and get on with his life. I don't know what that bright light was all about, really, but I want to fix whatever it is and move on. I don't want to force him into anything, but please, I need to know what he thinks and wants if we're going to have any chance with that."

She still looked unmoved for a couple of seconds, during which Harry carefully held her gaze without blinking, willing her to come round; and then she visibly relaxed, gave a small sigh, and waved her wand in an intricate pattern.

"Please excuse my son's rather colourful language, Mr Potter. And I assure you that what I said before was true, though my son gave another reason for me to stay with you. _Repetitatas!_"

With that spell, Draco's voice filled the space between them.

"What the **fuck** do you think you're doing separating us? We were doing just fine, and I don't give a **shit** what you think about it, we both needed whatever was going on then. Look at him! Shivering with cold! Oh yes, push a bloody Sleeping Potion down his throat! That's just what he needs! Right, you'd better look after him then, I'm out of here now, I'm going to go and talk to Blaise, Pansy and Greg. Don't you dare leave his side, and make sure you send someone to come and get me the moment he wakes up."

There were no pictures, but Harry had no problem visualizing the blond with his face distorted by the angry, sneering sarcasm, and then stomping out of the room. It stirred him up a lot, and it was an effort to keep the rising anger out of his voice. He thought back to the nightmare, and realized that perhaps it wasn't a nightmare at all – it had really happened, just not quite how his out-of-it brain had interpreted it.

"I see," he said mildly. "I suppose we'd better tell him I'm awake then?"

"There's time for that, Mr Potter," Narcissa replied. She was stalling, Harry knew; probably hoping he'd just go away before Draco knew anything about it. Fat chance. If the nightmare was real, they needed to get together and sort things out. Now.

"Oh I think we should do what he wants straight away," he said. A piece of parchment flew out of his trunk and a quill followed. Narcissa watched astonished as the quill wrote a message hurriedly on the parchment:

_ Draco,_

_ I am now awake. Please come to the Gryffindor Tower._

_ Harry._

The parchment then folded up into a paper plane and flew out of the tower window.

She looked at Harry with a new respect. A wizard who could do that much wandless magic, especially having just woken up from a Sleeping Draught, was a lot more powerful and dangerous than she had ever given Harry Potter credit for. True, he had survived the Avada Kedavra twice, but she had always assumed that that was all to do with his mother's sacrifice. Perhaps, she realized, the boy had depths they had all overlooked. She made no comment, but a faint smile ghosted her face. Against her better judgement, she was growing fond of Harry Potter.

They sat without speaking for a few minutes, and Harry was growing uncomfortable in the silence, so blurted out, "Um, I guess I should thank you for not telling Voldemort I was alive."

Narcissa stiffened at the mention of the name, but did not immediately react. _Still a Gryffindor_, she thought, but she was surprised to find it was with affection. All she actually said was, "I suppose you should."

Alright, Harry thought, she wasn't going to make it easy for him. "Right, well, then, um… " _Smooth as ever, Harry._"Thank you for not telling Voldemort I was alive. And thank you for not letting me wake up alone."

The smile was quite real now. "That's quite all right, Mr Potter."

"Harry," he interjected.

"Harry." She agreed. A small but definite step forward, he thought. "I'm sure you realize that I acted mostly for Draco's sake, especially when you told me he was alive. But you were after all probably the only one with any realistic chance of getting rid of that horrid man, and I'm glad to have been part of giving you the opportunity to do so."

"Mrs Malfoy, …" he began, but she stopped him immediately.

"Harry, I think perhaps you'd better call us Narcissa and Lucius. I confess – before you awoke, I had thought you were trying to control my son somehow, to get hold of his magic while he couldn't use it. But I cannot doubt your sincerity, and I accept that you were motivated by a desire to help and free him, not to trap him. If my husband is correct, that may not be the outcome, but I accept that you did not intend otherwise. I cannot fault your motives."

What the hell was she on about? But before he could ask, or go back to what he was saying before, the door burst open, and Draco Malfoy rushed in, breathless and spoiling for a fight. Harry wasn't quite sure with whom, but found himself rather hoping it wasn't him. Draco looked rather too fierce to fight when you'd only recently woken up from a Sleeping Draught and were still feeling a bit groggy.

But it was his mother he turned to and glowered at. She seemed to take it in her stride.

"My dragon, good of you to join us," Narcissa said, in perfectly equable tones. "I suspect you and Harry would like a word in private?"

The blond looked stunned, but years of training held good. "Yes, thank you mother. Let me introduce Auror Godwin," with which he moved aside to show a tall, sandy-haired and freckly man in auror's robes behind him. "He will take you back to the Manor. Apparently we are to stay there under – ahem - auror protection until a decision is made in the future. Harry, his partner, Auror Banks, will be taking you back to the Burrow when we are finished here."

Draco didn't say what the decision was about, and Narcissa didn't ask. But his hesitation about the "protection" was a strong hint that it was about their future freedom. So the "protection" was more likely some form of house arrest, then.

Narcissa cooly stood up to shake hands with the auror, and Harry stood as well, out of politeness. She nodded at Draco, then turned to Harry.

"It seems I must leave you, Harry. I hope you will be kind to my son, and that in time you will be able to forgive us the unkindnesses of the past."

It was Harry's turn to be stunned. He didn't have years of training, but he did have Draco's example to follow, so he swallowed deeply and gathered his Gryffindor pride.

"Thank you Mrs – Narcissa; I too hope we will all be able to move on from the past."

"Lucius has mentioned that we will be changing the wards at the manor to allow you unrestricted access, Harry. I do hope you will feel free to visit whenever you wish."

With that, the aristocrat gave him her hand to kiss and left the room in the company of the auror. "Under auror protection" might mean being under arrest; but she looked much more like the lady being followed by her lackey than a prisoner with her escort.

Draco watched them leave, then turned to him, still looking stunned.

"Um, 'Harry'? 'Narcissa'? She gave you her hand? Changing the wards? Want to tell me what's going on here?"

"I don't really know myself. I asked her to call me Harry, and she wouldn't; but eventually she came round and asked me to to call her Narcissa." Harry then repeated the chat they'd had together. Draco looked stunned. Again.

"There are people mum's known for twenty years who still call her 'Mrs Malfoy'! I think you've won a heart there."

Embarrassed, Harry changed the topic: "So, do you have any idea what she meant about your father being correct?"

"Yes, but I think we should sit down to discuss it."

They both sat on the bed, about a foot apart. Harry found himself wishing they were closer, but clamped down hard on the desire. He didn't think it was very appropriate seeing as how they'd been best enemies until fairly recently.

"My father told me a little bit more about this Haussmann Shield he mentioned when we were sitting in the Great Hall. Apparently it's something that happens when two or more people's magic gets intertwined. Usually, it only happens with partners."

Harry looked confused. "You mean like, aurors who are partners?"

Draco smiled at the naivete of the raven-haired boy. "No, Harry. I mean like husband and wife. Though it's quite acceptable to have same-sex partnerships in the Wizarding world, and even partnerships with more than two people." Harry looked a bit upset by this so he pressed on, "sometimes a special word is used – bonded, rather than married – because marriage still means a man and a woman in the muggle world; but no-one sees any real difference between a bonding and a marriage."

Harry looked a bit green. "But we're not … I mean, you hate me …"

Draco looked at him sternly. "No, we're not. And where do you get off, telling me what I feel about you? I've watched you for years, you hate it when other people tell you what you think, so don't go telling me what I think! For your information, I don't hate you. How could I? You saved my life from the Fiendfyre. You saved us all from that fiend in human form. Hell, if I hated you, I'd have ratted on you in the Manor. But I don't, I really don't; I admire you. When I said 'Thank you' before, I meant it. Not because I was supposed to, or obligated to you, but because I really do appreciate what you did for us. And then you went and broke through the Dark Lord's curse, and our magic got joined together. Though I'm not sure what that actually means."

"I have a bit of an idea," Harry replied, telling him about the nightmare. Draco agreed with him about the interpretation: it hadn't been a nightmare as such, it was Harry's response to being separated. Clearly the joining together had a physical aspect as well as a magical one. Draco confirmed that the anger was exactly right, as Harry knew already from the outburst Narcissa had replayed. The feeling of being drowned was when Madam Pomfrey had given him the Sleeping Draught he had just woken up from.

Harry kept silent about the Sectumsempra until the very last. He could hardly talk about it:

"I'm - I'm so sorry. I've never regretted anything I've ever done as much as that."

"Yeah – I can't hold it against you; I was trying to _Crucio_ you at the time, so I guess I forgive you, and I owe you an apology too."

"Accepted," said Harry, breathing a sigh of relief. He realized he'd been carrying the guilt of that curse for over a year, and now it had fallen off him. He felt a lot lighter.

"So, did your father say anthing else about this joining-magic-thing, then?"

"Father says that it can only happen when the two people involved are actually compatible in some fundamental way." Harry thought back to the "partnering" thing, and felt a bit ill. Draco must have noticed, because he quickly added, "but that doesn't have to mean anything more."

"OK, so you're not actually coming on to me?" Harry asked, rather tentatively.

"Were you hoping I was? I've been watching you for the last two years, wondering if that's what you wanted."

"To be honest, I'm not sure. I guess we're just going to have to see what the future brings. But in the meantime, I guess after the events of today … I mean, I hope … um, can we be … friends?"

With that, Harry reached out his hand. Immediately they both remembered the day, years before, when Harry had refused Draco's offer of friendship.

"I'm really sorry about seven years ago," Harry said, sheepishly. "You just reminded me of my rather thick, insensitive, bullying cousin, Dudley."

"Thanks for that," said the blond, sounding both sarcastic and slightly hurt.

"Yeah, sorry, that came out wrong. I thought you were like him, but you're not. I know now you're not thick, you're actually one of the smartest wizards I know."

"One of?" the blond asked, archly.

"Hermione would give you a run for your money, but I guess she's a witch, not a wizard … And also, it's obvious that you are quite sensitive, you've just had to hide it. It's not your fault you were so good at hiding it and I was so bad at spotting it that I didn't see through your mask. And you're not a bully – well, not any more." Draco gave him a wry smile for that. "I'm sorry I thought so, OK?"

Draco stared at him for a moment, and Harry's heart sank. Was it all going to fall apart at the last hurdle?

Then the blond's face split into a grin. "Apology accepted," he said, and reached out and shook Harry's hand firmly.

There was a knock on the door, and Auror Godwin announced that he had come back to take Draco to the Manor.

"I guess this is goodbye for the moment, then." Draco said. "And, Harry? Thank you."

With that, the blond kissed him on the cheek, and left the room.

Harry was shocked speechless for a second, and only just managed to call out "thank you … Draco" as his new friend went through the door.

The kiss on his cheek tingled.

He thought over the conversation they had just had, and three things came back with stark clarity.

_Harry? Thank you. _It was the first time Draco had used his name in the whole conversation, and it was his first name. It felt ridiculously good to hear it from those lips. And he'd kissed him. That just felt amazing.

_See what the future brings._ Suddenly Harry knew that, whatever it was, he definitely wanted the future to involve a certain tall, blond, sarcastic Slytherin as his friend.

_Watching you for the last two years._ Merlin! Harry must have been asleep to miss that. Although he had to admit to himself he'd been rather preoccupied, what with horcruxes and hallows and trying not to get killed.

He must have been half asleep for the last few months. But he was awake now.

It was time to find Auror Banks and see what future there was for him at The Burrow.


	5. Return to the Burrow

_**Author's note:**__ The twins are going to feature a bit, and rather than worry about exactly which one is speaking, and break off between them, I'm going to use the notation "yada / yada / __**yada**__", where the / indicates switching from one twin to the other, and __**bold **__is when both of them are speaking at once. Hopefully this will prove less obtrusive than standard punctuation._

* * *

**5. Return to the Burrow.**

Auror Banks was quite young – probably only about five years older than Harry. He looked totally overawed to be given charge of the Boy-Who-Lived. "The Boy-Who-Lived-Twice, now", the Auror thought to himself. Or man, really. Presumably Mr. Potter was now going to be given some new title – the Wizard-Who-Killed-the-Dark-Lord or some such.

Best to leave that to the Daily Prophet, though; Mr. Potter was asking him a question, and he hadn't quite followed it. Something about where they were going. Right, he'd probably expected them to just apparate out.

"We need to go to the Headmistress's office, sir; she asked specifically that all traffic go through there so she would know who had left and who was still on the School premises."

Ah, Harry thought to himself, that will be why it took so long for Auror Godwin to come back after taking Narcissa to the Manor. Which had been a very good thing, as it had meant he had had the opportunity for the first civil chat he had ever had with Malfoy. _Draco_, he corrected himself, _he's my friend now_. It had been so pleasant talking to Draco without drawing a wand. Perhaps they would even be good friends some day.

"Thanks," he replied, with a shy smile. Aurors, even young ones, were to be respected, after all. Auror Banks did not reply, but the brilliant smile he gave Harry in return made him look even younger. It warmed Harry's heart to see it.

Harry was beginning to wonder exactly when he had turned into such a Hufflepuff.

* * *

When they got to the Headmistress's office, Harry was surprised to find a small reception committee waiting for him. Kingsley stood in the middle of the room, flanked by McGonagall on one side and Arthur Weasley, chatting to his son Percy, on the other. Mafalda Hopkirk was there too, and a couple of other wizards that Harry couldn't quite place, obviously from the Ministry.

The Headmistress smiled at him and said, "Mr. Potter, we'll have a word or two in private later, but for now the acting Minister for Magic has something he'd like to say."

"Harry, we know you'll be desperate to get back to the Burrow," Kingsley began, and Harry could only think how right Kingsley was and how much Harry wished he would shut up and let him go there, "and Mollie Weasley is equally longing to have you back, but we didn't want you to leave the castle without formally recognizing you as the Destroyer of Voldemort. I'm sure that there will be plenty of rubbish printed in tomorrow's Prophet, but we want you to know the Ministry has officially given you that title, so no-one can argue."

"Thank you, sir," Harry replied, deciding that if he was brief, perhaps Kingsley might take the hint. He liked the man enormously, but he had no stomach at all for political speeches. And thinking of his stomach reminded him that he hadn't eaten since... he had forgotten when…

"You're welcome, Harry. Now, the last time we spoke, you seemed a bit out of it, I hope you are fully recovered?"

Ah. Harry had sort of forgotten about collapsing in front of the Acting Minister. Damn. He was going to have some explaining to do to Molly Weasley. But for now, short answers seemed to be working well for him.

"Yes, thank you, sir."

"Harry, that's quite enough 'sir' from you, young man. You are, and always will be, my friend, and you will always have an ear at the ministry as the vanquisher of our greatest foe. A more formal presentation will be made later, I'm sure, but for now Arthur and Percy will take you back to the Burrow."

_Thank goodness that's over_, Harry thought.

With that, everyone shook his hand and then Arthur took charge, and they Flooed back to the Burrow. Arthur made sure that Harry was between the other two. He must have warned Percy, who went first, about Harry's dislike of Floo travel and tendency to fall out of the fireplace at the far end, because when Harry emerged, Percy had turned around and managed to stop Harry stumbling when he fell out of the Floo. Harry found himself rocked gently back into Arthur's waiting arms. It was done so simply and gracefully that Harry did not feel in the least embarrassed.

"Well, here we are again," his unofficial adopted father said, brightly.

* * *

A fourth person came through the Floo, and Harry was very surprised to be joined by Auror Banks.

Arthur spotted his surprise. "Ah," he said, gently. "The Ministry is very concerned to protect both you and your privacy, Harry, so Aurors will be on watch with you for the next little while. Auror Proudfoot is already here -" and with this, Arthur pointed out a tall, dark man, that Harry had completely missed, standing by the back door. Auror Banks went and stood next to him.

"Protect me? What do I need protection from?" Harry demanded. Not to mention that advertising his presence by being followed around by hulking great Aurors didn't seem like a particularly good way to safeguard his privacy.

"Not all the Death Eaters are accounted for, sir," Banks replied. "And they no doubt have sympathizers as well. Not everyone will be delighted that He-Who-Must… that Voldemort is dead. Or with you for killing him."

Harry didn't get a chance to respond to this because his own question had been a touch too loud, and a shriek of 'HE'S HERE!' rang through the Burrow as Banks was talking, followed by the shrieker herself, as Molly Weasley wrapped him in a hug that was tighter than any bear had ever managed, Harry was sure.

She didn't have him to herself for any time at all as he was instantly surrounded by a cloud of red heads as the Weasleys and Hermione rushed in from all sides. It was a huge crush. It was loud and manic. But he loved it. He loved how they all treasured him, wanted him to be there, were so overjoyed that he was back with them. He only wished the Dursleys had ever given him this feeling. He regretted so much that it was these people, no kin to him at all, who treated him like family, while his own had, at best, ignored him.

Harry pushed these feelings down, hard. He was NOT going to erupt into tears, or faint, or otherwise embarrass himself.

Molly obviously sensed something was not right with her "seventh son" and reacted in the way she knew best.

"All right, everyone, give him some room and some peace!" (Harry grinned, she was the biggest offender on both counts, crushing him and yelling almost in his ear.) "Come on, sit down, Harry, we need to get some food into you." She turned a beady eye on the rest of her clan. "And no-one is to ask any questions until he's finished eating and had a chance to draw breath."

With that, Harry was propelled mercilessly to the huge kitchen table, and a huge pile of food set in front of him. But he was not left alone; whatever Molly said, food in front of a Weasley was never going to last long, and the whole tribe sat down and ate with gusto. A funny sort of banter went across the table – topics were raised but then abandoned as soon as they touched on the war. Eventually a discussion got going about International Quidditch, which seemed to involve a lot of shouting between Ginny and the twins on one side and Ron and Percy on the other. Harry loved it. They were being themselves, except that no-one spoke to him directly; Mrs. Weasley was obviously being taken seriously.

When he sat down, he hadn't thought he would eat much, but he realized, after they had all been eating for an hour, that he'd eaten about twice as much as he normally could. He was about to comment how full he was feeling when a slice of treacle tart was levitated across to him, with the cream jug close to hand.

After dinner, he was a bit shocked with himself. You'd think he could have managed more than three slices of his favourite dessert, after all. He sat back, full and content, and looked around the table. And gulped. By the looks on their faces, everyone had now decided that the eating and breath-drawing were done, and the questions could begin. His heart sank. He could feel a strain in the room. They'd all want to know everything, all at once.

To his surprise, it was Fred – and George, it was never just one of them talking when they were together – who asked the first question.

"So Harry, / the thing / we'd like to know most is / **do you get to keep the chaise-longue?**"

The entire table collapsed into howls of laughter. When Fred winked at him, Harry realized that this was exactly what the twins had wanted – at this ridiculous question, all of the tension that he had felt before had drained away, and now the discussion would start in a happy and friendly tone. He mouthed "Thank you" at the twins, but it hardly began to convey his gratitude and relief.

They talked for a long time. Harry explained about the events in the Forbidden Forest, but was careful not to give any details about being dead. He looked over at Fred while they were discussing this and the twin gave him a look that Harry interpreted as "you and I can talk about this later".

Harry was very glad when they came to discuss the shield that had stopped Ron's Stupefy, because suddenly Arthur, not he, was the focus of the questioning. And Arthur looked about as comfortable with this as Harry had about being questioned before.

"OK, Dad, spill," said Ginny. "You obviously know more about this – what was it called, Houseman shield?"

"Haussmann, Ginny," Arthur corrected, though Harry could hardly hear the difference. "A Haussmann shield can only be created when two or more people's magical cores get aligned with each other. Normally, this only happens inside a bonded relationship –"

"So Harry and Malfoy are married?" Ron interjected in a shocked tone.

"No, no, I said 'normally'," Arthur continued, mildly.

"Yes, since when has our Harry / been normal?" Harry looked daggers at the twins for this, but he couldn't stay mad at the mischievous twinkles in their eyes.

" – but there are rare cases of friends being able to create one," Arthur continued, imperturbably. It occurred to Harry that Arthur must be very well used to this sort of conversation by now and had just got used to continuing regardless.

"But Harry and Draco aren't friends –" Hermione chimed in.

"Well, we _weren't_," Harry responded. "We kind of are now. I think. It's been a very confusing day!"

"But the thing for you to think about, Harry," Arthur continued, taking advantage of the fact that Harry's statement had stunned the rest of them to silence, "is that all the cases I know of ended up with the participants being bonded."

There was uproar. Everyone began yelling at once.

"But, Harry and me –" from Ginny.

"He'll never stand for it" Percy began; it was not clear who "he" was.

"You can't marry a Malfoy!" Ron burst out.

"There must be something, maybe in the Malfoy's library" came from Hermione.

"WILL YOU ALL SHUT UP!" Molly yelled. Astonishingly enough, they did. "A body can't hear herself think! Just look at poor Harry, with his hands over his ears! And what will the Aurors think?"

"Quite understandable, ma'am," Auror Proudfoot pitched in. It was the first thing that Harry had heard him say, and the baritone voice had an incredible soothing quality on him. He felt quite protected.

'_RIGHT, THAT'S IT!'_ he said to himself. '_I am a Gryffindor! I do __**not**__ need protection and I do __**not**_ _need to feel soothed and protected_. _Especially when the man has only said three words, for fuck's sake!_'

"I'm OK, Molly, really," he said out loud. "But you're all quite right, Malfoy and me, um, no. I just want him to be free to be himself. Mrs. Malfoy said something about that not being what has happened, but …"

There were two crumbs of hope here; one would have to wait for a private moment, but the other… "Hermione, if anyone can find out a way out of this, it's you. I know the manor holds horrors for all of us, but if you would go there, maybe …"

Fortunately, Hermione was a Gryffindor through and through. "Of course I'll go, Harry." There was a mutinous sound around her of Weasleys being all protective, but she squashed them firmly by adding, "and Ron can come with me to make sure that they don't try anything."

There was a discreet cough. "I'm sure that'll be alright, ma'am," Proudfoot said. "There are Aurors on duty at the Manor to protect everyone there too."

"Right," said Hermione, "we'll go tomorrow morning then."

"I don't think so," Arthur said. "Tomorrow is going to be a rest day. We've just fought a huge battle today, and we're going to need time to catch up with all the stresses from that. You can go on Monday."

Harry was stunned. He'd never heard Arthur be so firm before. All of the Weasleys, and even, miraculously, Hermione, seemed to just accept what he said. It hit Harry that this was how this family worked: while Mrs. Weasley looked like she ruled the roost, Arthur truly was the head of the house. He just didn't feel the need to show it, except when it really mattered. Like now: without a firm hand, nothing would have stopped Hermione from going in the morning. Indeed, Harry was half-surprised she hadn't suggested going right now.

But the grilling wasn't over. Harry had let something slip, and Hermione latched onto it.

"So, what did Mrs. Malfoy have to say, exactly? And when? Is this after you collapsed in front of Kingsley? What was that about, anyway?"

Harry groaned. "Well, after doing that thing with his wand I felt like all of my magic and energy had drained out, and I woke up alarmed when the Stupefy spell hit –"

"Sorry, mate," Ron interjected.

"You weren't to know. So anyway, the Malfoys had their magic back, and the mark was removed, and then Kingsley said… how did he put it?"

"' Looks like you've done it again, Harry.'," Arthur responded, promptly.

"Yeah, and then a whole load of stuff just hit me about things I've done and how everything really goes pear-shaped when I'm the centre of attention – from the Dursleys, from the press, from Umbridge ... I guess it all just built up inside me and I just lost it. And then, when I came to, I was in my old bed in the Tower with Narcissa Malfoy watching me."

He went on to give a rather truncated account of what had happened afterwards. He left out the nightmare – he didn't need them all worrying about that as well; but delighted in giving Draco's recorded remarks as exactly as he could remember except for saying "expletive" instead of the swear-words. And he left out the kiss. He told himself it was for the sake of the ladies present, not to protect Draco at all.

By the time they'd heard him out and talked things through it was well after ten o'clock and Molly produced tea and cake and then sent them all to bed.

Harry wondered how that was going to work: the Burrow must be bursting at the seams. But room was found for everyone: Ginny and Hermione were sharing Gin's room, apparently, and he was again with Ron at the top of the house. The Aurors did not need rooms, of course, and in fact, their relief team arrived as the rest were going to bed. Harry was sad to see Auror Banks go, he had got quite fond of him.

As they were lying comfortably in Ron's room, Ron sat up and asked, "OK, mate, so what did you leave out from the Tower?"

Harry squirmed. Ron noticed.

"Come on, I'm not the dumb-ass everyone takes me for. I know when you've got the lid on something. Spill."

So Harry told him about the nightmare, and the conclusions that he and Draco had drawn about it. To his credit, and Harry's very great relief, he just listened, and commented at the end that it must have been awful. His last words before they fell asleep were "I'm sure it'll have something to do with this Shield thing, but we can leave worrying about that till Monday. And you know, whatever happens, we're mates, right? Good night, mate. And no nightmares, all right?"

* * *

Harry didn't have a nightmare, for which he was very thankful. He slept soundly until nearly lunchtime the following day. Obviously, Mr. Weasley had been right about needing rest. He showered and dressed, and was trying to tame his hair – a lost cause, and he knew it, but if he didn't make an effort, Hermione would know, somehow, and berate him for it – when there was a soft knock on the door.

It was Ginny. She came in, and sat on Ron's bed. Harry sat on his, and they sat in an uncomfortable silence for a minute or two.

"Um, so, how are you doing, Gin? Did you sleep well?" _Stupid, Harry, stupid, stupid. _He would have hit his head on the wall, but that would have been even more stupid.

"Harry," she began, her voice strained, "when you were there in Hagrid's arms, that scene, it just keeps playing over in my dreams, I just can't forget seeing you there, dead…"

"I wasn't dead, Gin," he said, in what he hoped was a calming, reassuring manner. "I just had to pretend to be dead so Nagini could get killed before I fought him…"

He could see by the fire in her eyes that it wasn't working.

"You _pretended_?" A touch of anger was coming into her voice. "But we didn't know that! All I saw was a dead body in a giant's arms. To me, at that moment, you were dead, and all the romantic feelings I had for you, it was like they kind of died too. I keep trying to feel them, but it's not like before. I don't know if they'll ever come back…."

Harry's heart was in his mouth. His first hope was crumbling away. "Then what you said last night …. You and me ..."

"I said it mostly for them, Harry. Mum is still desperate for us to get back together. But me? Oh, … I don't know what I want anymore, alright?" Ginny put her head in her hands, clearly frustrated with not being able to work out her own emotions. "I don't know what I feel any more. I do love you, Harry, I do want there to be passion between us, but right now it's just not there …"

Harry had no idea what to say to that. All he could come out with was "Maybe we need to give it some time, yeah?" It sounded lame, even to him. Ginny smiled at him, and they went downstairs to find some food.

Mrs. Weasley had decided to do "just something simple", as the family was getting up in dribs and drabs. Her version of "something simple" would have been only slightly less sumptuous than a feast at the Dursleys', Harry thought, ruefully, regretting all the years he had missed out on a mother-figure showing him love through food. Or anything else, really. _Stop it! No regrets! _He told himself firmly, and nibbled on a muffin.

He went outside and found that the twins had invented a new game they called "gnome tennis", which seemed to involve little more than hitting gnomes as hard as they could with racquets.

"Don't worry, Harry / the little blighters love it / see, they're coming back for more!"

And indeed, when they landed after being it, the gnomes picked themselves up, dusted themselves off, and ran back to be hit again. Harry smiled and joined in. It was just what he needed to take his mind off Ginny.

Bill and Fleur, who had been at Shell Cottage, Flooed in for afternoon tea, so they all sat down and demolished a mountain of cakes and scones. At least, the Weasleys did; Harry still felt very full after the previous night's dinner, and had half a scone. Afterwards the twins grabbed Harry and took him outside. They played some more gnome tennis for an hour or so, but he could tell their hearts weren't in it. They were up to something else. They took him over to a table and chairs at the edge of their garden. It was a private little spot, where no-one from the house or outside could easily eavesdrop.

"Harry, there's a couple of things we need to talk about." Fred began. "Firstly, about discussion last night ... / we thought it's only fair to tell you all: / we made everyone draw straws for the right to ask the first question / and Fred won! / Then ickle Ronnikins accused us of cheating! Can you imagine!"

Harry could imagine, and the thought of Ron, a picture of self-righteous indignation, made him smile. Damn but the twins did that to him a lot!

"Of course, we did cheat; / but how dare our brother suspect us of it!"

George's face had exactly the same indignant look that Harry had pictured on Ron. Harry couldn't help but burst out laughing.

"OK, little brother, that's the next thing. / There's obviously a lot going on in your head at the moment, / and we're guessing by your face that not a whole lot of it is pleasant. / So we've decided it's our job to get a grin on your face. And a laugh is just a bonus. First for a while, right?"

"Yeah," Harry said, rather sheepishly. "Thanks guys, you're doing a great job with that. I guess I shouldn't be surprised though, as it's you two …" He gave a lop-sided grin. "Anything else?"

"You didn't talk about being dead last night." Fred's face had changed and Harry could not remember ever seeing him so serious as at that moment.

Harry nodded. He still didn't want to talk about it.

"I understand," Fred continued. "I know about it, OK? I know there's a white mist, and I saw a door I could have gone through, and that would have been game over. But then –"

"You brought him back! You brought Fred, who is half of me, back! Harry, we owe you forever, mate. We're going to take care of you, alright? Whatever you need, come and ask."

The earnestness and passion of their voices touched Harry so deeply that he couldn't trust himself to speak without collapsing into tears. He put his arms out to the twins and found himself wrapped up in a huge hug that said more to him about being part of the family than any of the words could have done.

When he pulled away, he found that he hadn't escaped tears. But neither had the other two, and they just looked at him and told him "It's all right, little bro," and cuffed him on the head.

At that moment Molly called everyone to dinner.

* * *

Conversation around the table largely centered on what Arthur and Percy had been up to. Apparently, they had had to go into the Ministry, even though it was a Sunday and even though they were supposed to be resting. Harry could see that Hermione was miffed, but Arthur was so obviously annoyed at having to go in that she didn't say anything.

It turned out that they were going to have to delay her visit to Malfoy manor, as the next week was scheduled for funerals and it had been assumed that the Golden Trio would want to attend them all. Arthur produced the schedule, and the whole week was filled up.

Ron was absolutely indignant. "Bloody hell, they could have asked us!" he exclaimed. Harry quite agreed, but he knew that wasn't the Ministry Way.

Or at least, it hadn't been. But the Ministry Way was insane. It had put muggle-borns in fear of life and liberty. It had produced incompetent ministers like Fudge, who dithered and did nothing, and Scrimgeour, who had locked up the wrong people. It had let people like Dolores Umbridge, who hated children (and the feeling was generally reciprocated), be in charge of Hogwarts School of Wizarding and Witchcraft.

It was time for this insanity to stop. He hadn't killed Voldemort so that the ministry could go back to "business as usual". Things needed to change.

"Um, who decided all of this?"

"Well," Percy replied, "the schedule is just a juggling exercise, so it was given to Cornelius Fudge." Spotting Harry's incredulous look, he expanded, "Yes, he's still at the ministry, so we have to find him something to do, and we thought it was one job he couldn't screw up."

"Right, well he has screwed it up. You can tell Fudge that we are going to the main service and the funerals of the people we actually know, and that's it. We are **not **part of the propaganda arm of the Ministry of Magic!" Harry ranted. "So that's the general memorial service and four funerals then: Colin Creevey, Lavender Brown, Snape, Lupin and Tonks …"

Harry shut up like a trap on saying this. _Lupin and Tonks_. It hit him like a bludger to the ribs. Harder than that: you could heal the damage from a bludger. They really were dead then. And that meant that Teddy truly was an orphan. Like him.

"Oh god," he whispered, "Teddy and Andromeda … and I haven't got in touch …"

Molly bustled round him. "Yes dear," she said, hugging him. "I Floo-called Andromeda this morning and said that you were caught up unavoidably but would be sure to call her this evening."

"And don't worry about the schedule, Harry," Arthur continued. "I told Fudge that would probably be your answer; he told me to change your mind. As if that was going to happen! Now I can owl him back and tell him that things don't work that way any more. So here's the actual schedule," and so saying he produced a second parchment, with just Remus' and Tonks' funeral the following morning, Colin and Lavender on Tuesday, the memorial on Thursday and Snape on Friday morning.

Harry was flabbergasted. He was very grateful that Molly had been in touch with Andromeda, and made sure it didn't look like he was ignoring them. And he was stunned at this display of political acumen from Arthur, and his unexpected guile in having the second schedule already worked out. But here was an opening, and he was going to take it.

"Yes, please do. Arthur, we can't let the Ministry just go on as before ..."

He would have said more, but Molly chipped in, "Haven't I been saying that for years, dear? Now accept Kingsley's offer and let's get on with it."

"Kingsley's offer?" Percy asked.

"Molly!" Arthur growled. But Molly pre-empted further discussion by jumping up and producing a piping-hot rhubarb crumble fresh from the oven. A wave of her wand and the huge cream jug floated over and silence descended on the table as all mouths busied themselves with the pudding.

"So, Dad," George began, a minute later, "is this a new job offer?" Fred finished.

Arthur gave in. "Yes, Kingsley has asked me to be his Deputy Minister. I'm happy where I am, but I guess now that you lot know about it you're all going to badger me to accept."

The table erupted into excitement and it seemed that everyone had to get up and shake his hand or slap his back. Harry quietly emptied the rest of his crumble into Ron's bowl. It was delicious, but he hadn't felt hungry all day and didn't want any more.

After the meal, Mrs. Weasley reminded Harry that he needed to place the Floo-call. He sat at the fireplace, threw in a little powder, and waited for the green-tinged face of Andromeda Tonks to appear.

"Harry! Thank you so much for calling!" she began.

"Andromeda, I – I'm so sorry I didn't call earlier, I …"

"HARRY POTTER! Don't you DARE apologize to me for ANYTHING! You come over here AT ONCE, young man!"

Andy yelling at him shocked Harry enormously. No-one had said a cross word to him all day, and it brought him to Earth with a bump. He scrambled to obey, and fell out of the fireplace into a huge hug. Then the Floo behind him crackled, and he turned with wand drawn. But there was nothing to worry about: Auror Banks came through. It must be his shift again. He suddenly realized that of course, the Aurors were supposed to guard him, so maybe he should not just charge off by himself, so he began to apologize to the young Auror.

The other wizard cut him off. "Now Mr. Potter, you're in enough trouble for apologizing when you shouldn't. You've no call to apologize to me; it's my job to guard you, not the other way round." He turned to Andromeda, continuing, "I do apologize to you, though, ma'am, for turning up unannounced, but I am charged with keeping an eye on Mr. Potter here."

"Yes, well I'm sure he'll keep you on your toes," Andromeda said, with a sly smile. "Please make yourself comfortable, Auror…"

"… Banks, ma'am, and I'll be fine just here." He stood in a corner, with a good view of the Floo.

Andromeda looked at him critically. "They get younger all the time," she sighed. "Now, Harry, let me have a look at you." She studied him with the same critical eye she had cast over the Auror. "Well, you'll do for the moment, but you make sure you look after yourself, young man. I'm going to need your help with young Teddy, after all."

"Sorry, Andromeda ..." Harry began.

"DON'T YOU DARE!" Andromeda yelled back, straight away. "I know you feel guilty for not getting in touch with me before now, but trust me, if I'd needed you, I would have yelled for you. You are allowed to have a life of your own, young man."

The sound of the one-month old baby suddenly filled the house; Andromeda's shout had woken Teddy. Before Harry could say the word 'sorry', Andromeda had her finger on his lips. "Not your fault," she said. "Sit down", she ordered, then disappeared upstairs. Seconds later she came down with the baby, and placed him in Harry's arms. He looked panicked; he'd never held such a tiny infant before and he didn't trust himself.

"Harry, you're not going to hurt him. Just support his head, and cuddle him." Harry did, and Andromeda smiled at him as the tiny boy reacted to the warmth of the wizard's arm and dozed off again. "Harry, he's not made of glass. Don't drop him, obviously, but you clearly love him, the rest will come. Now, would either of you like some tea?"

Both Harry and Banks nodded, and Andromeda found out how they wanted it, then went out to the kitchen.

Harry looked across at the Auror, and suddenly realized he didn't know his first name. Just how did that happen? He had automatically moved into a relationship where he saw the other man not as an individual, but as a functionary. As though his first name actually was "Auror".

Well, that was the Ministry Way and it definitely wasn't how Harry wanted the world to work. There was really only one way to fix it.

"Um, Auror Banks?"

"Yes, sir?"

_Damn._ "Please, call me Harry. What is your first name?"

The Auror looked very sheepish. "Robin", he replied.

_Robin? _Harry thought for a second. "Robin Banks? Like, 'robbing banks'? You're kidding, right?"

"No, sir – um, Harry. My parents thought it would be a great joke. So do all my fellow Aurors, unfortunately. And I get patrol duty at Gringott's and the goblins think it's the funniest thing ever."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "I wouldn't have thought the goblins would find anything funny."

"No, me either, but they do. And it's very useful; I get on better with them than anyone else does because of it."

"Right. So, may I call you Robin?"

The Auror looked at him, and Harry wondered for a second if he had spilt some crumble on his face or something.

"You're a very unusual wizard, sir – Harry. No-one ever sees Aurors as people. Of course, I would be honoured for you to call me Robin."

"Well, Aurors are people, Robin, you deserve for that to be remembered. That's something I want to try and change."

Teddy murmured slightly, and Harry looked at him with alarm. But with a little stroking and cajoling, he settled back to sleep easily enough.

"You're a natural, Harry," said Robin. "I should know, I have lots of cousins and get heaps of practice with babies. You're doing just fine."

"Thanks," Harry replied. It was just the kind of reassurance he needed. Treating Robin as a person was working really well, Harry thought.

At this point, Andromeda bustled in with tea and biscuits. Harry took a long sip of his tea with honey; it was perfect. As he set it down – very carefully, because of Teddy – Andromeda offered the biscuits around.

"Thank you, ma'am. It's very considerate of you to think of me – most people ignore an Auror on guard duty altogether."

"We're going to change that, aren't we, Robin," Harry responded.

Andromeda's eyebrows shot up. "You poor man," she said. "I bet your parents thought it was funny."

"They did indeed ma'am."

Harry was glad that she had been so kind about it. He could only imagine the humiliation of going through life with a joke name. Auror Banks seemed to cope with it pretty well on the whole, but it must get pretty wearing from time to time.

Andromeda broke in on his reverie. "My Ted, Teddy's grandfather, was a mind healer, Harry. I learned a lot from him about people's moods and mental weaknesses and how to help them overcome them. And that's why I won't let you take blame that's not yours onto yourself, alright?"

Harry gave her a weak smile. This would be how she always seemed to know what he was thinking, then.

"Hmm. Too serious for the time of night, I know. I do tend to be like that I'm afraid. And we have a horrid day ahead of us tomorrow. Harry, the funeral starts at ten o'clock; I intend to be there from about nine onwards. Please feel free to come when you like, but I would be glad of your company beforehand if you can manage it."

"Thanks. I'll have to fall in with what the Weasleys are doing, I guess; I suppose I should get back to them now."

He handed Teddy back to Andromeda. He was very glad to watch someone who clearly knew what she was doing and studied carefully how she took and held the baby. Neither she nor the Auror missed it; Robin murmured "a natural" at him, and Andromeda smiled in agreement.

Harry blushed. "Thank you for the tea, Andromeda."

With that, he and Robin Flooed back to the Burrow.

* * *

_**Author's note:**__ Thanks to those who have favourited / are following this story, I hope you're still enjoying it!_

_I should warn you: this story will definitely get slashy, but should stay M for fanfiction. I should say that there's a copy on archiveofourown as well for those who prefer that site. There are other things on my mind which may make it into the story: supernatural (since magic already is, anyway) and maybe MPREG. If there is MPREG, it won't be "of course, wizards can get pregnant too", I feel that's just a bit of a cop-out for the author! _

_Huge thanks to the lovely bickymonster, who has reviewed this chapter, corrected errors, made very helpful suggestions, and laughed at my jokes. What more could anyone want in a beta? Answer: excellent writing of her own; if you haven't already, go and read her stories; Erotes and For the Sake of a Name are currently being written._

_Reviews would really make my day._


	6. Into the Earth They Return Together

**6. Into Earth They Return Together**

His sleep was disturbed that night.

He dreamed of Remus dueling Dolohov, and then in that strange way that dreams work and situations change in an instant, it was him, not Dolohov, killing Remus. It was him, not Bellatrix, who killed Tonks. It was his fault. All his fault. He fell to the ground, sobbing, as the guilt of it loomed up, a dark cloud looming in front of him, then swirling around him, menacing. Tendrils came out like fingers to grip him, threatening to crush him to death.

He deserved to die. He was a murderer.

Then there was another boy in his dream. His face was familiar, but recognition was hovering just out of reach; Harry could not think of who he might be.

"NO! You are not a killer! It's not your fault," he yelled.

Something in the force of the voice convinced him without argument, beyond any doubt, that the words were true. The other boy pointed his wand at the cloud. A red flame erupted from the wand's tip and where it hit, the cloud turned white, and the fingers were no longer menacing; they touched him, caressed him, it was so soft, so calming, so … there were no more words, and he dreamt no more.

Harry woke from a deep and peaceful sleep hours later, with the sun on his face.

* * *

**Monday, May 4 1998**

He had told the Weasleys about Andromeda's plan to be there from nine o'clock, and it had been decided that they would all get there then. They were a bit out of routine for getting up in the morning, which meant a small and hurried breakfast – by Weasley standards, that is; Harry had plenty of time for the tea and single piece of buttered toast that were all he could face.

Ron's owl Pigwidgeon had brought the Daily Prophet, and Ron sat reading it over his second plate of bacon and eggs. The front page looked rather tame, by Prophet standards, merely alluding to the funerals that were to take place during the week. There was a photo of him, of course, a rather old one, and a line about "_Funerals Harry Potter will be attending, p3_" and he groaned inwardly. But it could have been worse. It might have been an embarrassing photo, with a story made up entirely of lies attached. There usually was whenever he did anything newsworthy. Or gossip-worthy. Or even just "hey, we-could-make-up-a-great-scandal-out-of-this"-wort hy.

It then occurred to Harry that he had not seen the Sunday edition. He quite liked it, as a rule, because there tended to be longer articles, and just occasionally they were actually factual and interesting. It made a nice change from the usual weekday lies and trash.

"Was there a Prophet published yesterday?" he asked the table at large.

Everyone looked a bit shame-faced. There were a few "ums..." and "ers", and then Ron admitted that there had been, but they thought it might be better for his blood pressure if he didn't see it…

"Hand it over, then," he demanded. Molly fished it out of a corner, folded over, and passed it to him.

As he opened it, a trumpet played and a garish headline leapt out of the page – literally; the publisher had obviously spent a fortune on a very special charm. "OUR SAVIOUR!" it read, in hideous purple letters, above an obviously retouched picture of himself, looking rather smug, and taking up most of the front page. He groaned, audibly this time, and read on.

_**The Boy who Lived Does It Again!**_

_**By Rita Skeeter**_

_Once again the Wizarding world is in awe of Harry Potter, as the boy who lived through the Avada Kedavra curse as a baby has now vanquished our greatest foe! In a tense and thrilling showdown that marked the end of the Battle of Hogwarts, our Saviour used none other than his favourite charm, __**Expelliarmus**__, to disarm the villainous Dark Lord!_

_Mr. Potter has now officially been styled the Destroyer of Voldemort by the Ministry of Magic. Can it be long before he's inducted into the Order of Merlin?_

_Inside: eyewitness accounts of the duel p2-3; interviews with Mr. Potter's fellow students p4-6; and SO MUCH MORE!_

They were quite right, it wasn't good for his blood pressure. He threw the paper across the table in disgust.

"More tea?" Molly asked him.

* * *

They apparated to the funeral, which was to be held in a special chapel conjured overlooking the grounds of Hogwarts. The Ministry had decided that all who fell at the Battle of Hogwarts would be buried in a new cemetery at Hogsmeade. The chapel was in the middle of a rose garden, with walkways radiating out for people to wander along and be alone with their thoughts. And as he arrived, Harry saw two figures in black dresses standing together in a little bower at the end of one walkway. One of them was holding a small, squirming bundle that just had to be Teddy Tonks.

Harry wandered over, while the Weasleys and Hermione kept a respectful distance.

As he came up to them, both Andromeda and Narcissa turned to him, and Narcissa gave him a sad smile.

"I hope I'm not intruding," he began.

"Mr. Potter – Harry – how nice to see you again," said Narcissa. Somehow, Harry just hadn't connected it, but of course Tonks was her niece, so it was perfectly reasonable that she would be at her funeral, Aurors or no Aurors.

"Of course you're not intruding. I asked you to come, remember? And I'm very glad to see you." said Andromeda, rather gruffly. "I confess I'm rather counting on you for help with your godson."

Harry became aware of the unshed tears in her eyes. It must be horrible for her. "Of course," he said, and held out his arms. She passed Teddy to him; the baby was awake, but quiet, and stared up at Harry. Harry was transfixed by the baby-blue eyes and blond hair. The sight put a bit of a lump in his throat.

"You're beautiful, Teddy."

No-one had told Harry that Teddy was a Metamorphmagus, like his mother had been, for the simple reason that nobody yet knew. So it was a shock to him when, as he kept watching at the baby, he found the eyes looking back at him were the same green as his own, and the blond hair was now his dark brown.

He couldn't help a sharp intake of breath, and the two women rushed to him to see what the matter was. Andromeda smiled; somehow Harry was sure it must be for the first time that day.

"He's a metamorphmagus! Just like Dora!" exclaimed Andromeda, a definite note of grandparental pride in her voice.

"And if he's changed to match you, he likes you, Harry." Narcissa added.

"Wow," was all Harry could manage.

Andromeda had not missed the astonishment on his face at seeing Narcissa, and now that Teddy was settled, she explained.

"Cissy and I had a very long chat yesterday, Harry. We decided that this was the perfect opportunity to let the past stay in the past, and rebuild our relationship. We were always very fond of each other before I married Ted, so it wasn't too hard to put the disownment behind us. It's ironic really that all three sisters are out of the house of Black now, one dead, one disowned, one now a Malfoy, and the heir is a Potter standing here cuddling my grandson."

Harry had forgotten about this bizarre state of affairs, but before he could think about it, or apologize (which he probably would have got scolded for), the grandson in question made a loud noise, accompanied by a rather foul smell.

"You'd better hand him here," Andromeda said, retreating into the bower where Harry could see the baby's changing bag had been stowed.

"Um, well, if I'm going to help, perhaps you should teach me?" Harry asked. As the twins had suggested, he was never going to be normal, he thought to himself with a touch of bitterness, so why not learn how to change a baby at his mother's funeral?

Andromeda was a good teacher, and he managed to get the nappy off and a new one on without any accidents. He picked Teddy up and the baby made an enchanting cooing noise and promptly fell asleep.

Narcissa gave him another sad smile. "Very brave, and very well done, Harry." Seeing his blush, she started on a new topic, "It was a little difficult to get permission to come today, but Dromeda managed it with the Aurors somehow. They always did have a soft spot for her."

Andromeda laughed. A short, harsh sound, but amazing that she could, nonetheless, given the setting. Harry was growing in admiration for this incredibly resilient woman.

"Dromeda? Is that your family nick-name? Shall I call you that?" he teased.

"It was mostly Cissy's name for me," said Andromeda. "But I suppose, since you are practically family, you may use it, or choose your own."

Harry was stunned. _Practically family? Choose my own?_ e He was an orphan, and now he had two families! He had always been expected to take whatever he was given, and now he was being allowed, invited even, to choose a nickname for a lady he would always look up to. It did some very strange things to his heart.

"May I call you 'Andy'?" he asked, his voice suddenly very quiet with emotion.

"Very well," she said, nodding, and somehow he knew that she understood how important this moment was for him.

"Harry, I wonder if you would do something for me," Narcissa asked. "The Aurors allowed Draco to come too – he was Nymphadora's cousin, after all – but we felt it was prudent for him to stay inside the chapel; as he did actually have the dark mark, he could easily be a target for retaliation. Go inside and make sure he isn't, would you, please?"

"Yes, of course," said Harry, making his way inside, still cuddling his godson. His life was just getting stranger and stranger: now here he was, checking up on Draco Malfoy, his adversary for so many years, simply because his mother had asked him to. _And because you want to_, a voice in his head insisted. He supposed there was some truth in that.

When he got inside the door he found the chapel had several Aurors standing quite prominently. Hmm, he thought. Narcissa knew perfectly well they were there, and wouldn't let Draco come to harm. What was she playing at? An official came up to him and chatted about the service; he agreed to the part he was asked to take. As his eyes adjusted to the indoor light, he spotted the two coffins at the front of the chapel, and forced himself to look away. There was Draco sitting by himself, with his head in his hands, at the end of a pew. Harry realized that he had chosen a spot that gave him a good view of a door out, with aisles to allow getaway in three directions. It couldn't be accidental; he clearly was feeling paranoid. Having had the mark, it was probably justified, Harry thought, ruefully.

He made his way along the pew, "Hey," he said, when still about halfway along; he didn't want to spook the blond. Draco looked at him, gave a tired smile, and stared down at his feet again. Harry went and sat next to him. Draco looked at the baby in his arms.

"Is that –"

"Yeah, your cousin Teddy. How's the Manor?" he asked. _Smooth as ever, Harry_, he thought. He really wasn't cut out for small talk.

"Shit," came the blunt and entirely unexpected answer.

Harry waited for an elaboration, and when none came, asked, "Want to talk about it?"

Draco looked at him with an expression of mock horror. "Not really. But I guess you won't leave me alone if I don't."

"Yeah, pretty much," Harry said, with a grin.

"Well, Father has all but lived in the study since we got back, shut up with his books and his fire-whiskey. I think he's still looking into this Shield thing. But he hasn't said three words together to me apart from 'Please pass the butter' and so on at meal times. Aunt Andromeda spent most of yesterday at the Manor. I stayed in my room."

"You hid from your aunt?"

"Yeah, she's pretty scary. And if you tell anyone I said that, I'll kill you. Frankly, I've rather had enough of aunts in my house."

Before Harry could respond, he was aware of a rush of motion, and Ginny came over and hugged him from behind.

"Hi Gin," he said, a touch breathlessly. "Just watch out for Teddy, OK?"

"Oh," she said, having not noticed the baby, "he's adorable!"

As if to prove the point, Teddy opened his eyes. Ginny was clearly a bit unnerved to see eyes the same shade of green as Harry's staring up at her from under a mop of unruly dark auburn hair.

"How come he looks like you? Is he a meta-whatsit?"

"Yes, he's a metamorphmagus, just like his mum. We only found out today."

"Look who we found, Harry," Fred's voice interrupted them; he and George were coming along the pew, with Neville Longbottom in front of them. George continued, "he said he was going to sit with his grandmother but we told him not to be barmy. Then he wanted to sit with your classmates,"

George pointed over to the other side of the chapel, where he could see many of his other friends and classmates: Seamus and Dean and the Patil twins as well as Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson.

"But we told him he had to come and sit with the fun kids." Fred finished up.

At this point, all the congregation seemed to be coming in, and in no time at all Harry found that Ron and Hermione were sitting behind him, with Narcissa sitting in front of her son, and next to Andromeda. Augusta Longbottom was sitting on the other side of Andromeda, and the Weasleys senior next to her. Harry had a strange feeling of being boxed in by his two adopted-into families. It was mostly delightful, but did feel a bit stifled as well.

The service began. There were the obligatory prayers; a few rather long, and patently insincere, speeches from Ministry officials; and some rather shorter, more to the point, and truly from the heart, words from her fellow Aurors. Eventually, the point Harry had been rather dreading arrived: he was called on "to say a few words in remembrance of the dear departed". This invitation came from someone who, to Harry's certain knowledge, had never met either of them in life, so he was a bit miffed at the stuffiness and hypocrisy of it all.

He got up and walked to the front, still holding Teddy. That gave him an idea.

"Well, Teddy Bear," he said, addressing the baby in his arms, "these are the parents you'll never meet. I'd like to tell you about them."

"Your mother was an amazing woman. She managed to be fierce and kind, graceful and clumsy, all at the same time. When your father introduced her to me, she insisted on being called 'Tonks'; she said you'd want people to use your surname if your fool of a mother had called you Nymphadora."

This comment was met with a ripple of laughter. Harry worried that Andy might feel insulted until he looked over and saw her chuckling quite openly. Relieved, feeling the tension in the room lessen perceptibly, he ploughed on.

"Yeah, I guess she was pretty direct. You always knew where you stood with Tonks. She used to greet me with 'Wotcha, Harry' and I knew at once that we belonged together. She was the sort of person who you met, and it was like you'd known her forever. I'm so sorry you won't meet her."

"She had to talk your dad into marriage, you know. Well, order him, really. He said he was too poor and too old, that she deserved someone better. But the truth is, Teddy, there aren't many people better than your dad was. And your mum didn't want someone richer, or younger, or better. She loved him. And he loved her. I hope you find someone like that."

"Don't ever let people tell you that your father was less of a man for being a werewolf. He was, but he was also one of the kindest, humblest men I ever met. The first time I met him was just after I had been attacked by Dementors on the Hogwarts Express in third year; he made sure I ate plenty of chocolate to get over it. He showed the same combination of expert knowledge and practical caring in the whole time as our Defense Professor – he was the best one we ever had. He knew his stuff, and he cared about his students, about his friends, so deeply."

"He cared about you, Teddy. He loved you so much. He died trying to make a world in which you could live a happier life. We need to remember that, Teddy Bear, and never be ashamed of him."

He looked up to address the congregation directly.

"We all need to work for a world in which all our children can lead happier lives. Teddy's dad was a werewolf, and so many people shunned him because of that. But we all need to stop judging people on one trait, but get to know them as whole people. Remus Lupin was one of my father's best friends, and I'm so proud to be able to say he was my friend, too."

With that, Harry almost ran back to his seat. His throat was so tight, he could not have said another word. As he passed Narcissa, she gave him a brilliant smile and whispered "well done". She reached out for the baby. Harry gladly passed him over; he knew he was barely holding on to his emotions, and he didn't want to put Teddy at any risk. He just managed to be seated before the tears in his eyes fell. He felt arms clutching him rather tentatively; it wasn't quite the comfort that he needed, but he accepted Ginny's embrace nonetheless.

The service concluded shortly after Harry's speech. They went out into the cemetery proper and gathered round as the two coffins were interred side-by-side in the same grave. The Lupins had been robbed far too soon of togetherness in life; somehow it was fitting that they were returned to the earth together. The gravestones were levitated into place. Harry had a wry smile when he read the legend on Remus's: apart from his name and dates, there was simply a circle, to represent the full moon, and the text _Mischief Managed_. A fitting tribute to Moony, the last of the original Marauders.

Walking back to the chapel from the graveside, the inevitable happened.

"Hello Mr. Potter, Virginia Grockle from the Daily Prophet," said the reporter, thrusting her hand at him. Harry ignored it, and she continued, "I was just hoping you might like to say a few words for our readers? A little special quote from the Boy Who Lived Again?"

That did it. Harry had almost been prepared to play ball, but using a title like that…. He forced down his rising anger, and answered, through gritted teeth, "I think I said all I have to say during the ceremony – perhaps you could report that?"

And he sped up, leaving her behind, he wondered why it was that he seemed to be spending so much time suppressing his feelings. When had he stopped being spontaneous and out-of-control? Didn't he want to feel anything any more?

The mourners gathered in a room next to the chapel for refreshments. There was lots of forced bonhomie, and everyone seemed to feel the need to come up to him and thank him for "those lovely heart-felt words", or some equally saccharine variation on the theme. Harry guessed they meant well, but he felt like everyone was treating him with kid gloves, and it was driving him mental.

Harry couldn't fathom how people could eat anything, but found a plate shoved into his hand with some ham sandwiches, and started to munch on them mechanically. That was it, he guessed; life had to go on, and giving and eating food was one of the primary ways to demonstrate it.

Draco Malfoy had not been at the graveside, and with a shock he realized why: the boy did not want to be so exposed in public. And that probably meant he was still inside the chapel, and Harry was willing to bet that no-one had offered him any sandwiches.

He made his way back inside, dodging several well-meant attempts to draw him into consoling conversations, and found that he was quite right: Draco was still sitting there, looking at his shoes, and no-one was paying him any attention.

He walked over and offered him the plate of sandwiches.

"What the **fuck—**" Draco started; Harry had forgotten to warn of his approach. Then Draco eyed the plate, and Harry.

"Sandwiches, Potter? Seriously?" he drawled; but the effect was rather spoilt by his grabbing a sandwich and beginning to eat it with gusto.

"Seriously. And it's Harry, remember?"

"I remember that your name is Harry, Potter," came the smart rejoinder. "But I bet all those people out there have been using it, and none of them really gives a toss about you, do they?"

Harry realized that Draco had pretty much put his finger on the source of his irritation. They didn't care, really. People **weren't** looking at one another as people. No, he was "The Saviour", "The Destroyer of Voldemort". The hero. The guy in the white hat. Of course someone gave him food. And Draco was "The Death-Eater's Son". The baddie. The guy in the black hat. Of course no-one did.

It was so **wrong**!

"Apart from the Weasleys, my friends, and your mother and aunt, you're probably right."

"Of course I'm right, Potter. And I bet everyone's told you how wonderful your speech was, right? And so heart-felt?"

This stung Harry a little bit.

"It WAS heart-felt!" he replied, his voice rising.

"OF COURSE it was heart-felt!" Draco yelled back. "But none of them got it, did they? They still see it as: Lupin's a werewolf, I'm a Death Eater, you're a saviour. So he got snubbed, I get reviled, and you get put on a pedestal and treated like you're made of glass. You could have said anything, anything at all, they would have lapped it up."

Harry was amazed. Draco understood. He really got it. But he had a point – what good was Harry's speech if no-one actually listened to what he said? He slumped down next to the blond, dejected.

"Yeah, you _are_ right. So what the fuck is the point? Why do I bother trying to fix things? Why fight this insanity?"

Draco looked at him, eyes hooded. And then ….

SLAP!

Harry rubbed his chin. It stung, and he could feel that Draco's hand had left an impression that he knew would be a livid red.

"Don't you DARE give up, Harry Potter! We all thought, 'what's the point of fighting the Dark Lord?' And you showed us. You beat him. But you needed your friends, right?"

Harry nodded.

"You can beat this. But you need us. Don't forget that. And we need you."

With that, the blond got up and walked out.

Harry only just heard his whispered parting words: "**I **need you".

* * *

There was a commotion outside as Draco walked out; Harry could hear shrill voices questioning him. Loudest and shrillest of all was Rita Skeeter. He shuddered; he hadn't thought about the fact that she would be here. But of course she was never going to miss this! His was a bit amazed that Virginia What's-Her-Name had got to him before Rita did.

Without thinking, he went out to find the Weasleys.

Ginny was the first to spot him. "HARRY! What the HELL happened to your face?" she demanded.

"Sh Gin! Please!" he whispered frantically back, hoping against hope that the reporters hadn't heard. He ducked back inside the chapel, and motioned for Ginny to follow him.

He decided to keep it simple. "Draco Malfoy slapped me," he said; as she bridled, he continued, "I deserved it."

"How the f- do you work that out?"

Harry was amused that she stumbled over an obscenity. She was still legally a child, he remembered, and he was glad she still had that innocence.

"Gin, everyone here is being so careful with me. Treating me like I'm super fragile. Everyone has to be nice to me. As Draco put it, they've put me on a pedestal and treat me like I'm made of glass. But that's the problem, Gin. They're treating me as a hero, not as Harry. They're not listening to what I'm saying. They're succumbing to the madness that sees people in categories and says one person is important and another is not."

Ginevra Weasley was no fool. She took a long look at Harry and took in his shining eyes, the clear passion in his voice, and the fact that he'd referred to Malfoy by his first name. There was something going on here, and after Saturday's events, she had a pretty good idea what.

"And was Malfoy listening?" she asked.

"Yes!" he replied. "He really got it, Gin. And I started despairing about it, and instead of saying some nice platitudes that would have done nothing, he got my attention with this" – he pointed to the mark on his face – "and reminded me that I beat Voldemort, but needed help. And we can beat this, Gin, but I need help…"

At this point, Harry rather ran out of steam, embarrassed by his own passion. Gin smiled at him. "I think you're right there. It's time to go home. It's been a hell of a morning, hasn't it?"

"Yeah," he said, and turned, and they both walked out. Draco was still there, surrounded by reporters. He was just finishing up, by the sound of it: "… I'd like to endorse everything that Harry Potter said about him. Remus Lupin was an excellent teacher. We may not have seen eye-to-eye as people, but I know now that that was my loss. I never had him as a friend, and I rather regret that. Now if you don't mind, I think I should return home."

While he was speaking, Harry put a glamour over the mark on his face, then grabbed the twins and Ginny, signaled to Molly, and they had all apparated back to the Burrow before any reporter had noticed him standing there.

No-one had seen the mark, then. The glamour had stopped the other Weasleys noticing it. He'd tell them about it, but in his own time. That he could deal with. _Phew_, he thought. _A lucky escape_.

Unfortunately not, as it turned out.

* * *

No-one wanted to do anything much in the afternoon. Harry Floo-called Andromeda, intending to apologize for running out on her; she cut him off straight away.

"You're a big boy now, Harry, and you don't need to tell me where you're going. I told you, you're allowed to have a life of your own. I know if I'd needed you, I could have found you. And frankly, you did an incredible job this morning, both with Teddy and with your speech. Talking to him was inspired. Now, Teddy is fussing for a feed, you run along and play, and we'll be in touch."

He suggested coming over to help, but she wouldn't hear of it. At a bit of a loss, he wandered through into the front room. Hermione was sitting there, a huge book in her lap, brow furrowed in concentration. It was such a Hermione thing to do that he couldn't help but grin.

"Tea?" he asked. "Mmm," she replied. Taking this as assent, he went into the kitchen and made two cups of tea, taking them back into the other room and putting one next to her.

Hermione looked up, confused. "What? Umm, -" then, as she saw the tea, "oh, thanks Harry," and her nose went straight back into the book.

He drank his tea in silence. Hermione did not move, other than to turn pages of the book.

"I'm just going outside to see what the others are up to," he told her.

"Mmm, ok" she said.

"Or I might just go and throw myself off a cliff," he said, on a whim, suspecting she wasn't actually listening at all.

"OK, Harry," was the reply. _Brilliant,_ he thought. _Might as well go talk to a Mountain Troll for all the sense I'm going to get out of her. _So he went outside to see who was about. The twins were playing gnome-tennis, and George threw a racquet to him. It was a completely mindless game, he decided, and exactly what he needed. They played until tea-time.

* * *

As they were preparing for bed, Ron asked him about the glamour. Harry was surprised that he'd noticed it, but Ron pointed out that he had never been much good at hiding things from his friends for long, and glamours weren't much defense against wizards who cared enough to really look at him. Harry was truly delighted to learn not only that Ron cared so much about him (which he'd known already) but was prepared to say so. They'd neither of them ever been much good at expressing their feelings.

So, rather nervously, sat down on his bed, Ron opposite him, and told the story of the events just before they had left the funeral, except for Draco's final words as he left the chapel; Harry told himself that Draco would have wanted them kept private.

"He's absolutely right," was Ron's response.

Harry all but fell off the bed. "Agreeing with Draco Malfoy? Who are you, and what have you done with my best friend?" he demanded.

Ron laughed. "Hey, I agree with you too, you know. We have to put all this divisive stuff behind us. Otherwise, it's like Voldemort won. If we're really going to build that better world for Teddy to live in, it has to involve all of us. We need Malfoy. And he needs us. Otherwise it's all just going to fall apart again into pure-bloods and muggleborns and all that crap. So, yeah, if he can get that message across by slapping you, and you're OK with it, then I guess it's a good thing, right?"

Harry grinned. "Yeah, it is. Thanks. Goodnight, Ron."

He went to bed, basking in the warm glow of his wonderful friendship with Ron Weasley. The last thing he thought of, in the few moments before he fell asleep, were those words from Draco.

"I need you."

That night, he slept without dreams.

* * *

_**Author's Notes**_

_The title is from Ecclesiastes 3:20 in the Douay-Rheims Bible. The more familiar version may come in useful as well …_

_Many thanks to the many people who have followed and favourited – I love you all! _

_And many thanks for the six reviews to chapter 5. I have PMed where I can, but I think public comments are in order:_

_**Bicky Monster**__: Thank you, both for your help on this story, and the quality of your own; I didn't say anything I didn't mean!_

_**OrnateDragon**__: I like "safe", I'm going to steal it as a description. Yes, I've always felt Harry and Draco is inevitable; but I have other plans for Auror Banks …_

_**Redstickbonbon**__: Thank you. I hope this chapter lived up to your expectations!_

_**MirrorFlower and DarkWind**__:Thanks._

_**Cherrie-San: **__Oh, but if they'd pushed Harry through to Draco the story would be over!_

_**Fred:**__ You do have a point, and I do have an answer to it, which will come in due time. But you catch more flies with honey than vinegar!_


	7. Once Departed May Return No More

**7. Once Departed. May Return No More**

* * *

_ 3 And, as the Cock crew, those who stood before  
The Tavern shouted-"Open then the Door!  
"You know how little while we have to stay,  
"And, once departed, may return no more."_

_from__** The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam,**  
as translated by__** Edward Fitzgerald**_

* * *

_Tuesday, May 5 1998_

While Harry always remembered the whole of the Lupins' funeral with crystal clarity, he would find later that Colin's and Lavender's funerals were a hazy jumble of memories. Of course it didn't help that while his sleep the night before had been dreamless, it had also been restless. He woke up tired, grumpy and unrefreshed.

"You all right, mate?" Ron said, a note of concern in his voice. "Maybe you'd be better off staying in bed for the day rather than attending the funerals."

Harry was tempted, but he couldn't really let that happen; he was committed to going, so he forced a smile and jumped out of bed.

"I'll be right. I have to go to the funerals. After all, if you don't go to other people's funerals, how can you expect them to come to yours?"

"Right," Ron said, and then, when the point hit him, he laughed. Harry laughed with him, and the mood lightened considerably.

"Mate, I've been thinking about what you said last night," Ron suddenly blurted out. "I watched you and Malfoy yesterday, and I see what you mean about becoming friends –you two sitting together should have been all wrong, but it was cool."

"You sure, Ron?" Harry asked, "after all, he did nearly kill you with that poison!"

"Yeah," Ron replied with a grin, "but he didn't kill me, did he? And he wasn't trying to kill me. And he was being forced to act by a madman who had his whole family to ransom." A thought struck him, and he looked a bit uncomfortable as he said, "I guess, if you become friends, I'm going to have to put up with him, right?"

Harry was amazed that his friend could say that, that he could accept Malfoy becoming a part of their lives without complaint. It hit him again that the Weasleys really did love him.

It was the first emotional moment of a day that turned out to be full of them. He had expected the day to be less emotional than the one before: the young photographer had been a friend, yes, and Lavender too, once she'd stopped doubting that Voldemort had returned, and joined Dumbledore's Army; but he didn't love them like he'd loved Remus (_and Tonks, _he added: but if he was honest, Remus had been closer.) But emotions don't work like that; "the heart has its reasons of which reason knows nothing at all" as a famous Muggle philosopher (*) had once said. Reason told him that it was a day, it had been continuous; but in his heart, it was more a set of unconnected events, each somehow quite separate from the others. It reminded him of Dudley listening to CDs: he'd play a bit and then suddenly skip to another song when he was getting bored.

He remembered …

* * *

Standing outside, waiting to go in, the wind whipping up, rather cold for May, and the clouds racing along, covering and uncovering the sun, so that there was a constant alternation between light and dark.

* * *

Fred collared Neville again, and they were seated as before, except that Malfoy wasn't there: Harry, Gin, Neville, George, Fred. _Why Neville?_ he wondered. Not that he minded at all, but he knew the twins well enough to have a sixth sense about when they were up to something. Which wasn't particularly difficult; they were nearly always up to something. But what were they up to that involved Neville?

* * *

The officials had again asked him if he wanted to speak, but he declined this time. He felt it would have been intruding. But he found out that in fact standing up and speaking had been cathartic, giving his emotions release during the service, and having to sit quietly and keep his emotions in check throughout the whole service made him very tense.

* * *

Standing at the graveside brought home that he had lived with Colin for five years. It had sort of happened without him noticing, but it meant he'd known him nearly a third of his life, and for most of his life as a wizard; Harry often thought that the years before he found out he was a wizard shouldn't really count. He would have loved to be able to just forget them altogether.

He had the same feeling later, at Lavender's graveside. His schoolmates had left him alone at the Lupins' funeral, knowing that his relationship with Remus was very special and individual; but somehow today they knew to crowd round him, after each interment, and he was very glad of their company.

* * *

As they walked back to the chapel, he found himself next to Colin's parents, and began to introduce himself to Mr. and Mrs. Creevey.

"Oh Harry," Mrs. Creevey said through her tears, "of course we know who you are. We've seen your photo so many times. Colin practically worshipped you. Thank you so much for coming today. It means so very much to us to know how much he was loved by his friends."

That did it. His control broke and tears flowed down his face freely. He felt a strong arm come around him; it felt … _safe_. He looked round into the tear-filled brown eyes of Auror Robin Banks. Harry couldn't believe that he had missed how handsome the man was: chestnut brown hair framing a vibrant and youthful face. He guessed that before he'd seen him as an Auror, not as a person.

"It's OK, Harry, we all miss him." In answer to an unspoken question, he added, "He was one of my cousins."

Harry wondered aloud why he'd never heard about the Auror before. As he said it, he realized it sounded like he didn't believe Robin, but he took it in his stride, replying:

"I went to Durmstrang. My parents live in Germany – my father is the British Ambassador to the Bundesministerium der Magie, the German equivalent of our Ministry of Magic – and I grew up there."

"OK, and then you became an Auror here?"

"Oh yes, I didn't really want to live in Germany myself – we moved there when I was ten, and I always wanted to come back here. I got through Durmstrang pretty quickly, and went through an accelerated training programme the Germans have for gifted students, so I came over here and was accepted as a fully qualified Auror when I was only eighteen."

Harry gaped. If there was a touch of pride in his voice as he said this, it was quite understandable. This was at least three years younger than the age a British wizard could become an Auror.

'So how old are you now?" Harry asked.

"Just turned twenty; Saturday was my birthday – and you've made it extra special!" he replied, with a chuckle. "Anyway, Colin and I didn't have very much to do with each other growing up; but of course, family is family. Every time I saw him he was always prattling on about two things: photography, and Harry Potter."

"Thank you, Auror Banks," Harry whispered, humbled and embarrassed by the testimonial. _Damn! Why did I call him that?_

"I thought I was 'Robin'? I hoped we might be becoming friends," he replied, sounding hurt.

"Yes, sorry, and I hope so, too. I mean, we are, yeah?" Robin nodded at this, somehow managing to follow Harry's rather incoherent reply. "I'm sorry, I just get tongue-tied when I feel, um, embarrassed; and I didn't know if you'd mind, you know, the twins finding out and all …"

"The twins finding out what?" Fred asked. He and George had been walking back with Neville and Ginny, Harry noticed; they must have come over to check up on their "little brother".

"My first name," the Auror stated. "It's Robin. Always has been," he added, looking at Harry with a twinkle in his eye. Harry got the message. _Yeah, like he'd be bothered. He's lived with it all his life._

"Robin / Banks," said the twins, both faces erupting into huge grins. "We'd like to meet your parents / they sound like just our type!"

Robin chuckled. "Yes, I suppose they are rather; come on then," he said, and let go of Harry, pointing the twins towards a couple walking a few feet away.

Harry felt guilty about his treatment of the Auror. Robin must have noticed, because just as he took the twins over to his parents, he said, "no harm done, Harry, I can cope with these two just fine," and Harry knew it was true. He had gained a new friend.

* * *

The twins, chatting to Ambassador and Mrs. Banks, dawdled a bit, and Harry reached the refreshment room well before them. He hung back a little, standing hidden in a little porch, hesitant to go in by himself; he was a bit gun-shy of being ambushed by reporters. That's how he overheard the conversation between the twins, who were now by themselves.

"You really think he'd make a good partner, then?" George asked.

"You do," Fred answered. Harry smiled the answer; it was exactly how their bizarre relationship worked.

"Yeah," George replied, and Harry could hear in his voice the smile that must be on his face.

Harry walked out, his face showing the confusion that was racing through his mind. _He?_ Who were they talking about? They must mean Neville, surely – why else had he been included so much in the last two days? But it didn't seem to make much sense – what could Neville bring to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, their joke-shop business? Perhaps his incredible knowledge of herbology would have some spin-off he couldn't see, but it was a mystery to him.

When the twins saw him, they separated; George went in, presumably to make sure they didn't miss out on the food, while Fred stepped over to Harry.

"What's up, little brother? Your face is all a-bother."

Harry decided not to mention his unintended eavesdropping and just discuss the seating. "I notice Neville seems to have become a rather close friend all of a sudden, sitting with us again; is there something I don't know about going on?" Fred looked very innocent. Which was practically an admission of guilt. "I know you're up to something!"

"Yep," came the reply, with a wink. "Match-making."

"Grub's up!" called George, and Fred legged it before Harry could ask any more questions.

* * *

The thing that stood out most at Lavender's funeral was a moment when they were all seated quietly, just before the service started. Ron and Hermione were behind him, Ginny, Neville, George and Fred seated along from him, and Molly and Arthur in front. He had this lovely feeling of being family again. And then suddenly it all crumbled as what Fred had said hit him hard.

_Match-making? _

It could only mean Neville and Ginny! His heart started racing and his breathing became shallow. Well, he thought, trying to calm himself down, that's good, right? Gin and I aren't together at the moment, and she's not sure if we will be, and neither am I if I'm honest … OK, so that's all good. He started breathing deeper and more slowly. But … there were Nev and Gin, and Ron and Hermione, and Molly and Arthur, and the twins had each other…. Everyone else was paired off. Suddenly, surrounded by family, he felt very alone.

* * *

It had hurt him very deeply. He'd kept it inside for the rest of the day. That was what he did now, push his feelings down. Part of him didn't want to, wanted to yell, or cry, or have hysterics, or punch a fist through a wall. But he couldn't. When they all sat down for afternoon tea, he just sat with a mug of tea in his hands, not saying anything. He didn't think anyone noticed; there were plenty of Weasleys to keep the conversation going, and Arthur was especially talkative; he was very excited about having met the Creeveys and discussed Muggle things with them. Harry suspected, reading between the lines, that they had been quite grateful for it too: he guessed that Arthur's interest in them had helped them feel part of the wizarding world, part of Colin's life, in a way that they hadn't been able to before.

He hadn't had to say much at dinner, either, because Bill and Fleur showed up, and so naturally the attention was all turned on them. It was agreed that the whole family, "including my extra children," Molly had said, looking pointedly at Harry and Hermione, would visit Shell Cottage for lunch the next day.

He found out after dinner that his withdrawing into silence most certainly had been noticed. Ginny tackled him about it, in typically direct fashion.

"OK, Harry, you haven't said two words all evening. What's going on in that head of yours?" Gin asked.

"Oh Gin …" he began. But what to say?

"You can't stop there, Harry," she replied, grinning, "even if it is two words!"

This made him snort with amusement. "Yeah, OK, it's just …" He took a deep breath. "Look, I love you guys, I really do, I just … oh, I'm sorry …"

Ginny's heart melted at the puppy-dog face he was making. "You're feeling a bit left out, aren't you, Harry?" Ginny asked, her voice calm and soothing. He nodded, not trusting his voice, and she wrapped him up in his arms, saying "it's OK, Harry, I know you love us; we're your family, right?"

"Yeah, but Gin, you and me … you've found someone else, right?"

Ginny inhaled sharply. Damn! She had thought she was being so discreet. "Harry … we could give it time, but you and me really isn't going to work, is it?"

"No, I guess not." He swallowed hard. That was it; as a couple, they were done.

"But you're still part of us, Harry. You still belong. I still love you; it's just, like you're my brother, OK? And nothing's going to change that."

"Yeah, but there's you two, and the twins have each other, and Molly and Arthur, and Ron has Hermione; but I'm all alone…" As Harry said that, some of the emotion he had been repressing began to come out, and the tears slid slowly down his face.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Gin," he said, sobbing, "I should be congratulating you, you deserve better than me, and here I am wallowing in self-pity about being all alone when it's my fault we're not together…"

In the grip of emotion he had raised his voice, and obviously others had heard, because he was suddenly aware of Ron's strong arm circling around him from the left, while a familiar voice came from his right.

"Harry James Potter!" Hermione scolded. "Haven't you got it through your thick head that you have nothing to apologize for?"

"And it's not your fault, Harry – we're meant for each other, but as family, not lovers" Gin assured him.

"And mate, we care about you, we'll help you sort out this bond thing with Malfoy, remember?" Ron chimed in.

"But – but – there's nothing like that between Draco and me!" Harry spluttered.

Ginny smiled to herself. _Yeah, Harry, that's why you call him Draco, now, right?_ she thought. But in for a Knut, in for a Galleon; if she was going to be provocative, she might as well go all out:

"Yeah, there's so little between you that he slaps you and you don't hit back," she said, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

"WHAT!" Hermione exclaimed, startling Ron, who let go of Harry in surprise. _Damn,_ Harry thought; obviously Ron hadn't discussed yesterday's events with her. So he explained the incident from the previous morning to Hermione; Ginny and Ron already knew, of course, though Gin had not heard the details. He still left out Draco's last words; but this time he was prepared to admit to himself it was because he wanted them to be private, rather than for Draco's sake.

"And you didn't tell us about this precisely why?" Hermione demanded.

Ron looked a bit sheepish. "He did tell me last night; but I did have to ask." He turned to Harry. "Mate, what's going on? You're bottling everything up, and you seem to be a bit distant all the time. In fact, you're being more like Malfoy than yourself!"

A CLICK! went off in Harry's head, so loud he wondered who had made a noise. _More like Malfoy?_ Did that explain this pushing down emotions? Was he learning the 'Malfoy mask'? He thought back over the last few days; was there anything else like it? He remembered one stray thought: _When did I become such a Hufflepuff?_ That was much more Draco Malfoy than him. _Hmm._

The shock must have made itself visible on his face; his friends were looking very concerned.

Questions came tumbling out.

"Do you think there's anything in that? Could it be that shield thing? Or even the bonding that Arthur was talking about?" And then the full reality of that hit him hard, and he continued, "Does that mean we'll get …" – he swallowed hard, hesitating over the next word – "married? Is that where this is going?"

Harry was getting more and more nervous as he gave voice to his concerns. He remembered what Draco had said: _"__I've been watching you for the last two years, wondering if that's what you wanted."_

Was it? Was he … gay?

To his surprise, it was Ron who worked out what the problem was. He put his arm around his friend again.

"Harry," he said gently, "you do know that we have no problem if you're gay, right? I mean, if you like men, that's no problem; you're still you, and we still love you. And I guess if you get together with Malfoy, somehow we'll deal with it. We'll always be here for you. You'll always be part of this family, no matter what, OK?"

"OK", Harry said, non-committally, but he didn't really believe it. And they didn't believe him. And he knew they didn't believe him …

"It's just –" he began, breaking off immediately to take a deep breath, and then thinking, _Gryffindor courage, Harry_, and continuing, "Vernon Dudley used to rant about that sort of thing. He said all sorts of horrible things about 'queers' and 'Nancy-boys' and how depraved they are and they all end up dying in misery; I guess I just can't cope with the thought that maybe, once more, he was talking about me…"

His voice tailed off at the end. Hermione felt her heart break to see her friend so down.

"Right, we really are going, then," she said to Ron.

"Going where?" Harry asked, befuddled.

"Malfoy Manor, to get you some answers about shields and bonding," she replied, as though it were obvious. "Lucius Malfoy and I have been writing to each other during the week – you saw the book I was reading yesterday; that was from his library, a very interesting book about shield spells in general, though a bit lacking about the Haussmann shield – and he's agreed to us visiting tomorrow morning, so we'll see you at Shell Cottage for lunch."

Harry looked at her, feeling incredibly grateful; and then his guilt-gene kicked in again. He remembered he'd actually asked her to do this; how could he be so insensitive?

"Ron, you're going too?" His friend nodded. "I can't believe you guys. Hermione, how can you do this? How can you so calmly offer to go back to Malfoy Manor when you were tortured there? Ron, are you really going back there, where we were attacked and imprisoned? It might still be dangerous! I can't ask you guys to do that!"

Hermione put on her best schoolmistress voice, and ticked off her points on her fingers:

"Firstly, I've wanted to see the Malfoy library since I first heard about it in first year, and when Lucius invited me on Saturday it was all I could do not to rush over there at once. Secondly, there are Aurors there; I don't see how we'll be in any danger. Thirdly, even if we are, the two of us together have proved to be pretty good at looking after ourselves. Fourthly, I said I'd go, so I'm going. Because, fifthly, Harry Potter, you need to know what's going on here. You need help. We're your friends; we'd do anything for you. Hell, Harry, when the wizarding world needed help, when you had to die to destroy Voldemort, you walked right up and did it. So stop apologizing and accept that we're going to do this for you because we love you and you need it. And that's all I'm going to say on the subject!"

With that, she got up and left the room.

"Well, mate, I reckon you've been told." Ron said.

Harry grinned. There was obviously nothing to do but accept the situation. "Yeah, I reckon I have."

* * *

_**Notes**_

(*) Blaise Pascal (1623 – 1662). Although he said it in French: "_Le cœur a ses raisons, que la raison ne connaît point._"

* * *

**Author's Notes: **Massive thanks to my wonderful beta, Bicky Monster, for her hard work, again.

Thanks to all who favourite/follow, I get emails about it, and it makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside :)  
As do reviews. Speaking of which, individual comments:

_**Cherrie-san**: _I can't get them together too soon or the story would be over!

_**Yume:** _I hope this update is soon enough!

_**Incredulous**: _Praising with faint damns, as my old boss would have said. I guess you won't read this, since you've given up lest it get too intimate, but I appreciate the kind words.

_**MirrorFlower and DarkWind**_: You're welcome, as always. I'm glad you like the slap._**  
**_

_**mizzrazz72:** _Tonks and Remus must have had a funeral; Harry and Draco need time to work out what's going on so the funerals are giving them a bit of space to do it in.


	8. Return to Scheming

**8. Return to Scheming**

_Tuesday, May 5 1998 – Malfoy Manor_

Draco Malfoy was getting rather bored of his own company.

He'd come back from the Lupins' funeral yesterday without his mother. As she had never actually taken the Dark Mark, she was not under the same stringent house-arrest requirements that he and his father were and so she did not have to return to the Manor with him, and had gone back to Andromeda's house instead to help with Teddy. While he was jealous of her freedom, he could see that it was definitely in their favour: by not being in the Manor all the time, she was subtly pointing out to the Aurors that she shouldn't be lumped together with her husband and son, which might help keep her, at least, out of Azkaban. There was always a chance that she would be able to lobby for their release, if it came to that; and at any rate, keep the Malfoy name from being irreparably dragged through the mud.

Draco had mixed feelings about his father. They had had a conference about the state of affairs, and Draco knew that there were two concerns uppermost in his father's mind: staying out of Azkaban and avoiding being a slave to Harry Potter. From Lucius's research in the Malfoy library, it appeared that the latter was a shockingly real possibility.

It seemed that a wizard's magic was the most important thing about him, as far as the ancient pure-blood traditions were concerned, and so had given rise to the heaviest debt known to wizarding law. It turned out that there were some very old, very dark, and very illegal spells that could bind up a wizard's magic. Evidently, the Dark Lord had learnt one of these and used it on them. It occurred to Draco that he had probably learnt it here; a terrible irony that the knowledge which was the source of so much of their power had been used against them to rob them of it. But these spells could be broken. And when a wizard was denied his magic and someone set him free, this created an obligation, the "Dette of Magickale Emantschipation" as the old books quaintly termed it, which was even more important and far-reaching than a Life Debt.

The debt amounted to the fact that, if Potter wanted to, he could claim both father and son as his vassals. And not just their service; they would be unable to lie to him, to plot against him, or even to use magic at all without his approval, if he chose to enforce it. This clearly terrified the older Malfoy. Draco thought he could understand the fears and frustrations that were driving his father: Lucius had been under the Dark Lord's sway for so many years; had had freedom for a few hours; and now, it appeared, was potentially once more bound to a Lord.

But Harry Potter, Draco knew, was no Lord Voldemort. He had said that the only thing he wanted was for them to be free. Draco had watched him for seven years; he knew that Potter would never go back on such a statement. He would not insist on his rights. At first, when they had discussed things on Sunday, he had shared his father's concern; but when he had seen Potter again at the funeral, he realized that he could make it work.

It was, he knew, the slap that had changed his mind. He'd gone to the funeral primed by his father to do whatever he could to get Potter on-side; when he had fallen apart in front of Draco, and it looked like he would just give up, Draco knew instinctively that he had to act, and act drastically. The slap had not been premeditated; but it had hurt, and Potter had not been offended, so Draco was now certain that Potter would accept him as an equal, not insist on his status as a slave.

At that thought, his native Slytherin cunning kicked in. Being accepted by the "Saviour of the Wizarding World", as the Prophet called him, as an equal was no bad thing for wizards who had picked the wrong side of the battle and stood to lose everything. Even, it seemed, his friends. When he'd gone to see Blaise Zabini, Pansy Parkinson and Greg Goyle at Hogwarts while Potter was out of it, Pansy and Greg had made it clear that, while they sympathized with him, they weren't going to risk openly assisting him in any way. He had not been in touch since.

This left Blaise Zabini as his only remaining true friend. He no longer had a power base amongst the Slytherin snakes; well then, as a Slytherin, he would have to seek another one. He would brave the Gryffindor lions, and seek new strength there. It was going to take a new strategy; amongst the snakes, he could hide his cowardice with bullying, but he might actually have to be brave, and – horror! - Honest, with the lions. It occurred to him that he already had been: the slap had been partly about waking up Potter for his father's sake; but Draco knew perfectly well that there was more to it than that. He'd told Potter he needed him. And that was not Slytherin manipulation; it was the stark, honest truth.

Draco was becoming a bit of a Gryffindor. The thought scared him shitless.

* * *

Narcissa Malfoy sipped her Lady Grey tea and considered the issue of Harry Potter calmly and carefully.

Firstly, there was the undeniable fact that she adored Lucius Malfoy. She always had, she expected that she always would. And she knew that he adored her in return. He had always made sure that, whatever happened to him, she would be alright. There had never been any suggestion of her going to Azkaban. She alone knew how much his protecting her had cost him over the years. She desperately wanted to keep him free, and to stop him needing to pay any more for her freedom. She could see only one possibility of achieving this, but was there a limit to what she would do to achieve this? Was welcoming Harry Potter, of all people, into the Malfoy circle too high a price?

Now consider the blossoming relationship with her sister. They both needed each other, that was clear. And they were both very much enjoying getting back together, that was also clear. She enjoyed Teddy; it was lovely to have a child to fuss over again, it was such a help after all the unremitting angst of the War. And, of course, Mr. Potter turned up again. As Teddy's godfather, he was always going to be part of that scene.

Then there was her son's happiness to consider. She could not deny that there was something between him and Mr. Potter. They had had all this talk about shields and bonds and debts. She knew all the theory. She also knew the evidence of her own eyes over the years: her son had always had an obsession with Harry James Potter. He had never stopped wanting to be his friend, ever since Harry had spurned his hand back when they were both eleven. To be certain, that obsession now manifested as hatred; but every witch knew the mantra, "if you can't kiss him, hex him": and that, she was sure, applied here. She could sense that her son's walls, the elaborate defences he had built up over the years to hide his emotions, even from himself, were tottering.

The shield and debt might be real enough, but Narcissa considered that the bond might well have happened without them. And, she decided, it was a desirable thing. On the whole, no, Mr. Potter was not too high a price. There was, of course, the question of an heir; but then, they could always adopt Teddy. It would not be the first time such a thing had happened in Malfoy history, she knew, though it was never discussed openly.

So she had manipulated as best she could to get them together. She knew that the thought of Potter gave Lucius heartburn; but she knew him well enough to see that he understood the power that the boy wielded, quite unknowingly. Imagine if that power could be harnessed, could be directed by the Malfoys!

What could they not achieve then!

* * *

Lucius Malfoy was worried about his son.

Draco was not coping very well with their enforced confinement in the manor. He was glad that the Aurors had allowed him to accompany his mother to the Lupin funeral; it had given Draco something to do other than staying in his room, which seemed to be all he spent his time doing since the Battle.

He knew that they were both in a limbo that would only stop when the Ministry got round to holding trials for former Death-Eaters. And the limbo was probably better than the Hell to follow. He knew that things were pretty grim: he was as likely to escape another sentence in Azkaban as a Muggle was to escape a body-bind curse. It was this thought that had led him to all but abandon his son for the time being: he hoped that by showing the Aurors that there was a coolness, a distance between them, his son might be able to avoid the same fate.

As for himself, he had been cautiously owling a few old friends, suggesting that perhaps a little influence might be brought to bear. But he knew he had to be subtle; very subtle. The Aurors swore blind that his correspondence was not being monitored. They probably even believed it. Lucius did not. He knew far too well how the Ministry operated.

But Azkaban was only one of his problems. What to do about Potter? This Magical Emancipation Debt worried him greatly. It seems that he might have only traded one form of slavery for another. And how to take Potter being a Gryffindor into account? The Dark Lord was at least predictable. Lucius had worked out his measure; after all, he had managed to maintain his position as Voldemort's favourite Death Eater for nearly twenty years, until his failure to obtain the prophecy.

Draco thought that, because it was Potter, things would be different. That Potter really wanted them to be free. Lucius ruminated about that. If Potter had been a Slytherin, he would have known how to deal with things, known how to strike a deal with him to his face, and manipulate him behind his back. But Gryffindors were always so unpredictable. One simply could not count on them to act in their own best interest; and this unnerved him.

Draco even seemed to believe that Potter might keep them out of Azkaban. If so, what an irony that it was him! Here in front of him was the very real possibility of a second term of imprisonment in Azkaban, and loss of his standing in the wizarding world; and his best hope to avoid it seemed to be the boy who had caused his first prison sentence, and his loss of standing with the Dark Lord.

He sat, sipping a fine vintage port, one of the few muggle things he really enjoyed, and let his thoughts wander. He had long ago discovered that his best plans happened this way, when he just relaxed and let them grow in his mind, rather than try to reason things out.

This time was no exception. The plan, when it came, was beautiful, and breathtakingly simple. And the best thing was that it actually hinged on Potter being a Gryffindor. He looked at it from all angles, rolled it around in his mind just as he rolled the port around in his mouth, testing it from every angle. Were there any flaws? Arthur Weasley, of course, obviously knew something about Haussmann shields; tricky; but he knew nothing of Dark Magic, so that should be safe. Hermione Granger; yes, but she could be managed.

After another half an hour of mulling things over, he reached a conclusion. The plan would work. It was perfect. It would keep him out of Azkaban, and Potter out of his hair; and with a very little luck, achieve both at no cost to him or Draco.

A very good evening's work.

He left the fire in the grate to die down by itself, and went to bed.

* * *

_Wednesday, May 6 1998 – Malfoy Manor_

Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley arrived at the manor at half-past nine, as arranged. Lucius smiled to himself; their punctuality showed that she took him seriously. This was very promising. He offered them tea and toast, which was politely declined.

He led them to the library, taking care to avoid rooms that might have unhappy memories. To this end, he had specifically had them Floo into Narcissa's study. While this room was less imposing than his own study, it had the advantage of a Floo connection and a straight route to the library. Also, it meant that he could hide the books he definitely did not want Granger to find in his own study.

He didn't want to suppress knowledge of the Magical Emancipation Debt entirely; that would leave him open to the risk of her finding out about it from some other source. But he wanted to leave her with the impression that it had to be an oppressive burden if it was to be taken up. Potter had to be made to agree to let them off immediately and completely; and, he being a Gryffindor, the best way to do that was to take his words about setting them free at face value, and make it clear that this Debt was the opposite of that.

Lucius had a terrible feeling in his stomach. Almost anyone else Lucius knew would have jumped all over such a display of weakness. He was in effect throwing himself on Potter's mercy. He had to remind himself that he was not dealing with a Slytherin, who would not have shown any. Potter would have mercy; he would live up to his words about setting Draco free. He had to believe it. He kept repeating it to himself over and over as the morning went on.

Granger's gasp of amazement when they walked into the library was very gratifying. He went over to the section on Shields, and was momentarily grateful to the house-elves who had manage to rearrange the books so that it was not obvious that half a dozen books were missing, currently sitting on his study desk.

_Grateful to a house-elf? Lucius, control yourself!_ He berated himself.

Near the shelves a table had been drawn up, with three comfortable stools. On the table were three books with slips of paper inserted as bookmarks at relevant points.

"These are all the books that might contain something of interest about shields," he said, indicating three shelves packed tight with very old books. Ron groaned; Lucius hid a smirk. He indicated the top shelf, where the books were significantly less dusty. "These are the books that I have had a chance to read since Saturday. The ones I have put back on the shelf don't appear to contain anything of much further help; these three, however," pointing to the books on the table, "were quite instructive. So perhaps we might start understanding what this Shield means for my son and your friend by sharing what we have found so far? Then there are these other books for us to continue researching."

Hermione smiled at him. She loved being in this place, so full of ancient books, and talking with someone who so obviously loved them too.

"Arthur told us a little more on Sunday," she began. "He said that a Haussmann shield can only be created when two or more people's magical cores get aligned with each other. He said that normally, this only happens inside a bonded relationship, but that there are rare cases of friends being able to create one; but the friends ended up being bonded in all cases he knew of."

Lucius blanched. "This is news to me," he said, truthfully. His research had uncovered the Debt of Magical Emancipation, and he had not considered the bonding issue at all. It made him rather sick to think of it – Harry Potter as "Restorer of his Magicke", as the books put it, he probably had to live with; Harry Potter as a son-in-law was a step too far. "That is, the idea of bonding. But I don't know if it would apply in this case. After all, Mr. Potter and Draco were neither bonded nor friends. Their history is rather acrimonious."

"Perhaps we were not friends, Father. But we shook hands on Saturday and parted as such," drawled a familiar voice, as Draco Malfoy entered the library. "Good morning Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger,' he said to the two visitors, his voice dripping with an icy politeness.

"Draco," Ron said, nodding his head in acknowledgement, the tension in his voice at odds with the informality of using his former classmate's first name. "Perhaps, if you're going to be Harry's friend, we should be friendly too, and use first names?"

"And, my son, do you think that you and Mr. Potter will end up bonded? Is that an acceptable outcome?" Lucius continued, as though Ron had not spoken.

Draco was a bit shocked. The subtle difference between being friendly and being friends was not lost on him. If the offer had been friendship straight up, he would have scorned the idea out of hand; he would have had to, with his father there, he was never going to openly accept friendship from a blood-traitor before the head of his family did. And his father had made his opinion clear – as clear as he ever would –by ignoring the words.

Being friendly was another matter. It was obvious that the Weasel was making this offer for Harry's sake, not Draco's. Well, he could be civil, he supposed. But he knew the Gryffindors well enough to know that 'friendly' would become 'friends' all too soon. It was all moving too fast – he had to be friends with the Weasels? And bond with Potter? In the Gryffindor Tower on Saturday, all had seemed right and natural, even the kiss on the cheek; but in the cold light of the Manor, he wasn't at all sure any more.

Lucius marked the hesitation in answering, and continued, "I thought not. Now, there is another issue that we need to consider. When a wizard loses his magic for some reason: in our case, because of the Dark Lord's curse, and someone restores it to them, there is a debt accrued."

"Like a life debt?" interjected Hermione, unable to contain her usual exuberant thirst for knowledge.

"Sort of," Lucius answered. _Best not to give it all away too soon_, he thought to himself. "But the details I have found so far are rather sketchy." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his son's eyes go a little wide, and then settle back to their usual state, masking his surprise well. _Good_, he thought. _Draco has worked out to keep his mouth shut._ "So, it seems that we have three avenues of research: the Shield, the bond and the debt. Now, do you wish to review the books I have discarded, or shall we move on to the books I have not read yet?"

"I'm sure we needn't revisit them, if you think so," Hermione answered, smiling.

Lucius did not miss the slight condescension in her smile. It showed him that her Gryffindor nature was guiding her to trust the information he was giving her, which pleased him enormously. "Thank you," he said, a small bow of the head masking the slight grin at her falling in beautifully with his plan. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the small blue book that contained the hints he was desperate for her to find; so he suggested that they continue reviewing separately and made sure she started on the shelf it was on.

Draco and Ron decided to bow out of the research. Ron had noticed a Wizard's chess-set standing next to a window in a little alcove, and challenged Draco to a game. Draco readily accepted; a good, or even a bad, game of chess would be the most exciting thing to happen in the Manor since they had come under house arrest.

For an hour or more, they sat in two odd couples, Lucius and Hermione reading, and occasionally sharing, some insight they had found, while Ron and Draco played chess. Ron was delighted to find that Draco was a worthy opponent; caught up in the joy of playing a game that actually stretched him for once, he found himself actually starting a very quiet conversation with the younger Malfoy.

"Must be horrid, cooped up in here." He began.

Draco looked at him closely, but there was no hint of animosity in the other's eyes.

"Yes." He replied. "Getting out for the funeral on Monday was the only thing to relieve the boredom."

"Bit sad when a funeral is the highlight of your week," Ron replied, with a low chuckle.

Draco was surprised. It appeared that the Weasel actually had a sense of humour. He'd never suspected it; but then most of their conversations at Hogwarts had involved yelling and hexes, which perhaps was not the ideal way to find out what each other was really like.

"I suppose so," he agreed. "Look, um, I have to ask – how is Harry? How did he take that stuff about bonding?"

Ron in turn looked at Draco closely.

"You actually do care about him, don't you?" he said, his voice gentler than Draco could have imagined. Draco wondered if perhaps they might end up friends after all.

"I guess I do." He replied, surprising himself, both that he did care, and that he was being so open about it with a Weasel. This Gryffindor thing seemed to be kicking in with a vengeance.

"Well, he's a bit scared about it all. I mean, he hasn't said so, as such; but he did talk about how his uncle used to rant about gays being depraved, I think that frightened him about maybe being gay himself. His uncle is a nasty piece of work, and Harry's always been afraid of him."

Draco was curious. The "Boy-Who-Lived-Twice" afraid of a mere Muggle? He would have to look into this. Later; Weasley was still talking.

"Harry did ask if this was going to end up with you two married. I guess that's one thing we came here today to find out: what you think about that."

Draco looked straight at the red-head. He instinctively wanted to give a smart retort: the Weasel was asking him about his feelings. He was a Slytherin for Merlin's sake; he didn't discuss his feelings with anyone! But the idea of Harry being afraid had begun to obsess him: it was just wrong!

What **did** he feel? He didn't know. Very unnerving, he'd always known exactly what he wanted before. Part of him recoiled at the idea; part of him was desperate to find out more, to right the wrong done to Harry (_yes, Harry, not Potter_, he told himself); and wasn't that just a surreal thought?

"I guess I don't know either," was all he came out with, as honest and up-front as he could be. Weasley – Ron – held his gaze, and nodded, accepting the honesty and the fact that this wasn't a "no".

At this point Hermione found the passage that Lucius was waiting for. He knew she had; she gave a huge shriek that made Weasley nearly fall off his stool.

"What have you found?" he asked, in what he hoped was a politely interested tone.

"Oh, sorry, Ron." She answered, "This is a very old book called _Protections and their Associated Obligations_. It's hard to read, but it appears to confirm that what it calls a Shield of Haussmann can only be created between people who have a significant relationship with each other. Apparently the shield is a form of mutual protection; it takes very strong wizards to cast it, which means it's very hard to break and will shield the casters from most spells as long as they are in physical contact. But there's also a section that looks like it might be the debt you were talking about, what it terms a…" – and here she struggled over the words; as Lucius well knew, not only were they spelt very strange, but the font was a very old, German one, and hard for modern Britons to read - "a 'Dette of Magickale Emantschipation' – I guess that's a 'Debt of Magical Emancipation', right?"

"I should think so," Lucius confirmed. "And does it go into detail about that?"

Hermione read on. "It has something to do with" - and here she flipped to another section of the book, and read out, "_Should it be that a Wizard has his Magic taken, and restored, by any means, the Restorer shall obtain a Dette over the Wizard, in respect of the Wizard's Magicke_. And back here"- she returned to the page she had been reading before:

"_**The Shield of Haussmann**__._

_**Establishment**__._

_It is known that a Shield, established, evidences a Meeting of Magick of two or more Witches or Wizards. A case has been recorded of Four Participants, but two were Veelas. It is not known whether other magickal Creatures can form a Shield._

_Should a Shield become established over a Dette of Magickale Emantschipation, it evidences a Binding of Wizard to Wizard, Magicke to Magicke, Soul to Soul. Such a Binding shall endure unless it be not Sette._

_**Extent.**_

_A Shield can be Temporary or Endurant. A Temporary lasts only while a Need is pressing and dies with the Moment; an Endurant appears to remain without Limitation or Circumscription of Efficacy._

_Some think that a Shield established on a Dette shall be Endurant or not as the Dette is Sette or not. Others suggest it depend on the Number of Participants equally as their Disposition._"

"Blimey," said Ron, "what does all that mean, then?"

"And how can a binding be set?" Draco asked.

"Well," drawled Lucius, "the usual way to seal a bond is by … consummation."

"So," said Draco, swallowing hard at the thought, "since we haven't done that, the bond is not set? We can avoid it?"

"Perhaps," said Lucius, cautiously. _Don't appear too eager!_ "But there's still this debt. Does the book tell us more about that?"

"I don't really think that's so important," she replied.

"NOT IMPORTANT?" Ron exploded. "How do you work that out?"

"But don't you see, Ron? Harry's been so worried about forcing people into things. All he needs to do is forgive the debt and then, since the bond is not set, everything will return to how it was before! Come on, let's go and tell him!"

She jumped up and began to race out of the room. Lucius got up, pleased at this turn of events, but rather surprised: he'd always pegged her as the more level-headed of the two, but she was the excited one, Weasley just looked... bemused? Pensive? Lucius wasn't quite sure how to describe it.

But it didn't matter. His plan was going well. He ushered then back to Narcissa's study and they Flooed away.

* * *

Hermione and Ron couldn't go straight to Shell Cottage; because it was still under a Fidelius charm, they could not say its address in front of the Malfoys. Accordingly, they Flooed back to the Burrow. As soon as she came out of the Floo, Hermione picked up some more Floo powder, obviously itching to proceed to the cottage, but Ron held her hand, restraining her.

"We have to tell Harry straight away!" she said, breathlessly, fighting his hold.

"Um, no, Hermione, we need to think first," said Ron, steering her to the old settee in the corner. "Yes, there's stuff he needs to know, but frankly, I don't trust Lucius Malfoy an inch."

"But Ron, you heard what it said in the book!" she said, still fighting him.

"Yes, but I also saw a few things. Like, how come you found the book that explained so much within a few hours? Hmm? Lucius has had days; don't tell me he hasn't at least skimmed over anything that might be interesting."

Hermione stopped fighting. "You might have a point," she conceded.

"I **do** have a point," Ron said adamantly, "And his face, when you found it: he wasn't surprised by what was in the book, I'll swear to it. Actually, he looked impressed; like he'd set you a puzzle and you'd solved it in record time."

"Hmm," the witch replied, thinking quickly. "So, what should we say to Harry then?"

"The truth," Ron suggested.

"Of course the truth!" Hermione snorted in reply. "But if we tell him everything he will charge in head first and we will never get the chance to find out more before he insists on trying to free them."

They chewed over everything they had learnt, especially what Ron had seen from Lucius, and what Draco had told him.

It was nearly one o'clock when they arrived at Shell Cottage.

* * *

**_Author's Note:_**

_Thank you to all you lovely people who are following my story! And especially big thanks to Bicky Monster for very helpful suggestions and another sterling job of proof-reading._

_The comments seem to have asked for updates, so this should keep you happy! Seriously, I love your reviews.  
**Guest**, please note I do respond to reviews but I can't if you don't log in.  
**mochiusagi**, you are so right! And contrariwise, as I think we see here...  
**lindadc90**, glad you like my story!  
**MirrorFlower and DarkWind**, chuckle, not sure who you think is the idiot though... _


	9. Hope Returning

_**Author's Note**_

_**WARNING: **Here be slash._

* * *

**9. Hope Returning**

_Wednesday, May 6 1998_

Harry Potter was having a wonderful day.

It hadn't started like that; when he got up it was an overcast day, threatening rain, and he was in a mood to match. When he got downstairs he found Ron and Hermione already eating and chatting about their visit to the Manor during the morning.

_Brilliant_, he thought bitterly. _I won't even have their company today!_

The twins took one look at him moping over the breakfast table and decided that drastic action was called for.

"Hey Harry," George said as he ruffled his hair, "want to come over to the shop with us this morning?"

"Is it open again?" he asked, a note of hopeful excitement in his voice.

"Um, not _exactly_," they replied, "Diagon Alley suffered a lot at the hands of Death Eaters, and it's still a bit of a mess. / We could use a hand cleaning it up, though. / Getting it ready and all. / We're planning on having a grand opening as soon as we can!"

Harry laughed at the way the conversation switched between them so easily. He actually felt happy about the thought of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes opening again. It reminded him that sooner or later things were going to return to normal (whatever that was going to mean!); right now was a strange time of funerals and cleaning up, but the world definitely needed the exuberant fun that the twins' business would bring.

And for today, going to Diagon Alley sounded like a lot more fun than sitting around the Burrow being bored.

"Of course I'll come," he answered with enthusiasm.

They apparated over straight after breakfast. Auror cover was provided by Auror Proudfoot, who encouraged them to forget all about him; he told them he would be around but not intrude. Harry had half-hoped Auror Banks would come, but apparently he was going to the Cottage later that morning with the remaining Weasleys. Proudfoot said this with a strange smile on his face, and Harry wondered if there was something he was missing. But he had other things to think about.

Diagon Alley was a mess, and Harry was heart-broken to see what had happened to so many of his favourite places after the Death Eaters had wreaked havoc.

"Don't worry, Harry, / it's not all as bad as it looks," the twins assured him, George throwing an arm over his shoulder. "But we are going to need help. / We put up some strong charms to protect the buildings / but we had Mad-Eye before, and we need the extra strength to undo them."

"I don't understand, how can -" Harry began.

"Oh you will," they answered straight away. "Let's start with Fortescue's."

They stood in front of the ice-cream shop that Harry loved so much. He had such fond memories of studying here in third year, having escaped from the Dursleys', and Florean Fortescue feeding him ice-cream sundaes every half-hour. But Florean had been taken off by Death Eaters, never to return, and his shop looked like a bombed-out wreck.

"Just point your wand at the shop / and use the incantation _R__edire__ad sanitatem!_"

The three of them chanted the spell together. Harry gasped as the twisted shop-front started to unwind and move out, and the walls behind became straight. In minutes, the building was basically sound again; the roof, which had caved in, managed to restore itself to its familiar jaunty angle, and all that was needed was a good paint job and the place would be good as new.

Harry's jaw dropped, and his eyes opened as wide as they could go. This had to be one of the most impressive pieces of magic he had ever seen. "How did you do that?" He asked in awe, a bemused but delighted look on his face.

"When we started up in Diagon Alley, we got word the Death Eaters were planning something big, / so Mad-Eye had this brilliant idea. / He roped us in and put spells on all the important stores so if they got destroyed, / we could fix them again!"

Brilliant idea, indeed. And amazingly well executed. Not surprising, perhaps, since Mad-Eye had had a hand in it. Harry knew he had been regarded as one of the best Aurors there'd ever been, and was a sad loss to the wizarding world in general, and personally to each of the three of them. But Harry refused to dwell on such thoughts. He hadn't cast these spells for them to get all maudlin about his death. No, this brilliance was to be celebrated.

As if on cue, a sunbeam burst through the clouds, lighting up the shopfront.

"Wicked!" he exclaimed with unrestrained joy. The twins were confused; "wicked" was exactly what it wasn't! But clearly Harry meant it as a good thing, so they guessed it must be some quaint Muggle turn of phrase he'd picked up. They too were very excited, so they just accepted his words with pleased smiles; they had not missed the slight flicker as he'd thought about Mad-Eye, though they didn't know that was what it was; but seeing him that happy again was what mattered.

"We tried to restore things on Sunday but we weren't strong enough without Mad-Eye."

"Sunday? But we were at home, resting?" Harry wondered.

"Sh!" the twins said, "not all of us, / not all the time, alright? / But don't tell Dad, / he gets upset if people apparate away without telling Mum. / Now, are you going to help us with the rest of the Alley?"

"Of course!" Harry agreed without hesitation, "That was BRILLIANT!"

* * *

They worked hard all morning and by half past ten, many of Harry's favourite shops were solid and sound again, and several of the shop-owners had returned. They had mostly been staying in the Leaky Cauldron, their houses above the shops not being habitable, and had come out to see what all the noise was about. Harry watched their faces and his heart sang to see the hope returning as they saw their shops being fixed.

Floriana Fortescue, Florean's daughter, cried tears of joy upon seeing her father's shop repaired. Of course, Harry realized, it was her shop now, since Florean was gone. He hoped she'd keep the name though; She waved her wand in an incredibly intricate pattern and, far more quickly than Harry had dared to believe possible, the shop was redecorated and ready for business. She placed a large sign above: _**Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour**_, it proclaimed, in crimson and gold.

"I'm never going to change the name," she said with a wistful but happy expression. "I'm so proud of him, and I want everyone to remember that he stood up to Death Eaters right here in front of his shop."

Harry was delighted to discover that she was as happy as her father to offer him free ice-cream. As it turned out, this made good business sense as well: many witches and wizards, having somehow got wind of the fact that something was going on, had turned up and they all wanted to be photographed eating an ice-cream with 'the great Harry Potter, Saviour of the Wizarding World'.

Ordinarily, Harry would have hated the fuss, but when ice-cream was involved, he was happy to take one for the team. Or in fact, several. Harry got through quite a few ice-creams before the twins decided that they needed to take action. Not that they begrudged him the treats; they'd actually decided that their mission for today was getting him out of the funk he had started the day in, and keeping him out of it. So far, they reckoned they had been riotously successful. But if they stayed out in public it was only a matter of time before Rita Skeeter or one of her cronies turned up and spoilt Harry's day.

"Hey, little brother, how about we go and check out the shop?" Fred suggested. Harry's face lit up, and he stood up and thanked Floriana for her kindness. She handed him a cone to go and made him promise to come back soon. Then the twins linked their arms through his and the three of them sauntered over to the shop. Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes had not suffered much, and they had managed to repair the façade easily. Fred and George told him that they had popped along on Sunday, so the place was already habitable and they had even found a caretaker to watch over it for them.

"Anyone I know?" Harry asked, trying to sound off-hand; but actually he was dying to know everything that the pair had been up to. He was really enjoying the day. Being with the twins was like being permanently on holiday, he decided.

"Wait and see." George replied, with a sly smile.

"Here we are then!" Fred announced cheerily as they walked in.

"'Bout time, too," came a familiar voice.

"Neville!" Harry exclaimed, as Neville Longbottom came out of the inner rooms and onto the shop floor. Harry rushed over to give his friend a huge hug, which was returned with gusto.

"You've done a splendid job, Neville!" George enthused. Harry was a bit surprised; not really like George to be gushy; he looked at him with concern; did he looked a bit flushed? Was he coming down with something?

"You alright, big brother?" he asked.

"Never better, little brother," George replied, with a wink and a wide grin.

Fred suggested they make a start on sorting out a great heap of products that had got thrown together in the middle of the floor.

"That'll take weeks!" Harry groaned.

The others chuckled. The twins responded, "The problem with you, Harry, is that / being brought up by Muggles, -"

"- you will forget about magic!" It was Neville who finished the thought, so naturally and immediately that it was as if the twins had suddenly become triplets. The three of them waved their wands together and the items in the heap suddenly took on a life of their own, zooming wildly around the shop. Harry laughed maniacally; it was like being back on the Quidditch pitch, avoiding bludgers, only without a broomstick. He ducked and weaved and jumped to avoid being hit; he suspected that the three were aiming at him on purpose, but he couldn't help bouncing back up in his joy at the sheer exuberance of the magic.

In no time at all, the shop was back to rights. Harry was breathless; it took him five minutes of huffing and puffing, cackling the whole time, to get back to normal. While he did so, George and Fred wove some charms together, and the decor changed from what the muggles called 'shabby chic' (a polite way to say 'train wreck', Harry thought) to an inspired combination of golds, reds and purples. It was gaudy, outlandish, over the top, and absolutely perfect for Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes.

"Wow!" said Harry, turning on the spot as he took in all the pure, almost childish, joy that the place seemed to exude. "You could have your grand opening today!"

"We thought we'd leave it till the weekend," Fred replied, "you know, mark of respect and all that." Not wanting to give any of them a chance to dwell on such thoughts, he squinted through the shop window and took a look outside. The crowd had dispersed nicely; there were a few passers-by, but by the looks of it, most people had gone into the shops. "Looks a bit less crowded, fancy another ice-cream, Harry?" he asked with a grin.

Harry Potter, having been starved of sugar as a child, had never been known to refuse such an offer. Even though he'd lost count of how many he'd already consumed today, this, he decided immediately, was not going to be the first time. The two of them wandered back over to Fortescue's, where two huge ice-cream sundaes appeared as they sat at one of the tables. It was only when they'd sat down and he'd wolfed half his chocolate and raspberry sundae with chopped nuts that it occurred to him that, of the three others, only Fred was with him.

"Where are George and Neville?" he asked.

Fred gave him a sly look, reminiscent of the one on Auror Proudfoot's face before, when Harry had asked about Robin Banks. "I think they might have found something else to do."

"Oh," Harry said. "Well, I guess they miss out on ice-cream, then. Or do you think we should take some back for them?"

Fred grinned. There was no mistaking that look: pure mischief. "That, Harry, is **such **a good idea ..."

* * *

Neville had been very busy sorting out the living quarters, and George was very impressed. They had asked him to set up separate bedrooms: at the Burrow, they had always slept in a room together, but they both had plans that would make it, ah, _inconvenient_, to continue the practice. Accordingly, Neville had cleaned up and furnished two rooms which George came and inspected. He was enjoying playing landlord. Fred's room was light blue and orange, a combination he would not have chosen himself, but which worked, somehow. He knew Fred would like it.

His own room was lilac and green. Very tasteful, George decided. This one was definitely a keeper. And, he noticed, Neville was also getting a little bit flustered standing in another man's room. And his trousers seemed to be just a little tight all of a sudden.

"Um, George, I, um..." Neville began. _How do you do this?_ He wondered. _How do you tell another bloke you've had a mad crush on him for years?_

"Yeah," said George. "Me too."

He moved closer to the caretaker. A little closer than was quite polite and definitely intruding on Neville's personal space. Neville noticed (it would have been difficult not to) and looked up slowly. There was no mistaking the lust in George's eyes; it was enough to rob him completely of self-control, and the two practically crashed together in an embrace of mutual longing. All of a sudden, they were kissing, though for a moment Neville found himself wondering how they had managed the coordination to actually meet each other's lips. But after that, all thought seemed to fly out of his head, and all Neville knew was that it was the most amazing experience he had ever had. Their mouths worked against one another, opened for each other, their tongues stroked and pressed together as hands moved to shoulders and arms, caressing and squeezing.

Eventually, George decided that he really did need to breathe, and they broke apart; reluctantly, on both sides. _Definitely a keeper_, he thought.

"Look, Neville, the room's really great and all that, but there's something really important missing."

Neville looked like he was going to faint. He'd tried so hard, he so wanted to make George happy; what had he forgotten? "Um, what?" he managed to ask, his throat tight.

"Well," George said, with a wink, "don't you think the bed would look ever so much better with a naked Gryffindor on it?"

* * *

Five minutes later, George decided he had been half right. Mind you, the Gryffindor he had thought of was absolutely gorgeous. It's just that he seemed, somehow, to have miscounted; two was definitely a better number than one. He pulled Neville to him in a tight embrace and their lips locked together again. George slid his tongue across Neville's lips and was rewarded with a low moan as Neville opened his mouth and their tongues tangled together.

"I've been dreaming of this moment," Neville exclaimed, as his hand strayed down George's side, "for three years ..."

"Perhaps," said George, punctuating his words with a kisses, "it's time (kiss) to stop dreaming (kiss) and start living (kiss)", his hand firmly encircling Neville.

"Nng – uh – urr – nng," Neville said, shuddering at the touch. Apparently he had temporarily lost the ability to form actual words. George was quite chuffed that he had managed to reduce the Gryffindor who had openly defied Voldemort to a quivering wreck incapable of articulate speech. It was obvious that Neville was a virgin with no prior experience of making love, and that made the moment almost unbearably sweet.

For his part, Neville was in ecstasy. He had fantasized about George many times, but it had never been like this. He'd never realized the fire of passion that would course through him, and the heady sense of joy that came from knowing that the other man felt it too. It didn't take him long to come, and he might have felt embarrassed had George not been far behind.

They lay still together, cuddling and murmuring to each other. George wanted this moment to last forever; he was afraid that if either of them said anything out loud, he would lose it. But he was wrong: Neville whispered,. "thank you," and the words reverberated in him with all the love and joy of the moment they had shared. He did the only thing he could think of to express his own gratitude: he kissed his new lover, at first gently, so gently, then deeply and passionately, and their cuddle quickly became stronger and erotic again.

But it is in the nature of moments that they are ... momentary. The door downstairs banged, and Fred's voice yelled up, "We're back! We brought you ice-cream! Hope you're decent!"

Neville panicked. "We have to clean up and get dressed! They'll find us! What will Fred think of you?" he said, in a whisper lest his own voice betray him.

George laughed. A quick _scourgify_ dealt with the cleaning-up part, but he didn't bother with getting dressed, contenting himself with summoning the covers over the two of them. "They'll find out we're lovers eventually, Neville, and I'm not bothered if you're not."

"I'm not ashamed to call you my lover," Neville replied, horrified that George would think that he might be. George marveled at how the nervous boy of six years ago had matured into this courageous, gorgeous man and couldn't resist telling him so.

"You're gorgeous, you know. I've wanted you for a while too, and Fred has been very encouraging since he came back to us on Saturday. I know exactly what he will think, and it's going to make him…"

"Grin from ear to ear!" said the Weasley in question, as he poked his head around the door. "All right George?"

"Never been better, Fred."

"On you, Nev!" Fred exclaimed. "Oh, and, love your work!"

Neville had no idea whether he meant the decorating or his recent – ah – activity; but he went a deep crimson anyway. George found it charming, and it toned beautifully with the dark green sheets.

"Here's your ice-cream," Fred added, as an afterthought, levitating a single caramel sundae towards them. "I told Harry you only needed one to share."

He shut the door behind him. Harry had not come upstairs yet, and Fred thought it was probably a good thing. He wasn't sure his little brother was quite ready for this yet. He walked back down to the shop floor.

"Are they coming down?" Harry asked. "We need to leave for the Burrow soon."

"Give them a minute to eat their ice-cream, Harry." Fred told him, stifling the smirk that was trying to escape. "I think they're really going to want time to enjoy it."

* * *

In fact, it took nearer a quarter of an hour. Admittedly, it might have been quicker if they'd just eaten it out of the tub with the little plastic spoons Fortescue's gave out; but Fred seemed to have forgotten to get them any. And licking the ice-cream off each other was definitely more fun.

"Must dash, lover," said George as he knotted his tie. "Be here when I get back?"

"Of course!"

It took George another five minutes to get out of the room. It's amazing how many just-one-more-goodbye-kisses you can fit in five minutes …

* * *

"You ready yet, Harry?" George asked, cheekily, as he came down the stairs.

Harry looked up. "So, you and Neville …"

"Yes, me and Neville," said George, a huge goofy grin spreading across his face; but it became a little more serious as he continued, "You might want to check yourself in the mirror, Harry."

Harry and Fred had been making themselves busy, restocking shelves and planning new merchandise lines; and Harry had unwisely tried out some new trick binoculars …

Now he had to clean the dark rings from around his eyes. So, to his great chagrin, the answer was, no, he wasn't ready, and it took another ten minutes before they could Floo to Shell Cottage.

Which was why they arrived only five minutes before Ron and Hermione.

* * *

Lunch was, of course, wonderful, and accompanied, in true Weasley fashion, by a great deal of happy chatter. Wonder of wonders, Charlie had managed to get time off, and Arthur brought Percy from the Ministry, so Molly really did have all of her children around her. She did, of course, berate the latecomers for "nearly spoiling the lunch", but her heart hadn't been in it, she was so overjoyed to have them all. She even insisted on Robin Banks sitting down to the table as well, which he seemed quite pleased to do, taking a seat between Ginny and Fred.

"Harry dear, you haven't eaten very much, are you sure you're all right?" she asked him, worriedly.

"Oh, our Harry's doing fine, Mum," said Fred, with a smirk. Given the number of sundaes Harry had wolfed, he was amazed that his little brother had eaten anything at all. "Now, Ginny, on the other hand …"

"Ginny? What's wrong, Ginny?" said Molly turning to her.

Fred winked at Harry, who gave him a grateful smile back. There was, of course, nothing wrong with Ginny, she was chatting happily with Auror Banks, but Fred knew how to divert his mother's attention when he needed to.

* * *

In all of the excitement and family, it wasn't until mid-afternoon that Harry could get away long enough to do something he'd wanted to do for a while: he slipped out and went to visit Dobby's grave.

He tidied the tiny grave, and spelled some forget-me-nots onto it. It was such a strange week: even without a funeral, here he was today visiting a grave….

"Thought we might find you here," said a familiar voice, and he turned to see Hermione and Ron climbing the dune to meet him.

"Hi guys!" he said, grinning at them, warmly at first and then a bit strained as Hermione all but crushed his ribs in a huge hug. "How did this morning go?"

Hermione conjured some benches and a table with a flick of her wand. "Let's sit down and talk about it."

As she did so, a plate of biscuits floated up, with three cups of tea following like ducklings behind their mother duck. The biscuits glided onto the table and the tea came to rest bobbing in front of each of them. Harry chuckled. He **loved** magic! Hermione's levitation charms were coming on a treat. He took a sip of his tea while absent-mindedly Summoning a biscuit to him.

"Was that wordless wandless magic?" Ron asked, gobsmacked.

"Er, yeah," said Harry. "I couldn't be bothered getting my wand out."

Ron looked like he was going to explode. "Mate, there are wizards who never manage to do that! Most of us have to concentrate so hard it hurts our teeth! And you do it just to save yourself fishing your wand out!"

"Yep," said Harry. He really didn't want to discuss the things that made him different from everyone else; he'd had plenty of years of the Dursleys calling him "the freak", he didn't need it from his friends. Even though Ron spoke with nothing but admiration, it was still too painful.

"Now, what did you learn this morning?"

"Well," said Hermione, "we managed to confirm what we already knew."

"Except that it looks like the Shield might have been a temporary thing" added Ron.

"And if so, then the bond was temporary too – it wasn't what the books called 'Sette'," Hermione continued, huffing a bit at being interrupted.

"Set?" asked Harry, "Which means what, exactly?"

"We think it means 'consummated'," Ron answered.

"As in ..." Harry asked, but could not bring himself to continue in words; his face went an endearing shade of red, though, so his meaning came across well enough.

"Exactly! And that hasn't happened, right?" said Hermione, with more enthusiam than tact.

Harry's answer was to go even redder and splutter, "No!".

Ron took pity on him and left that particular subject. "And there was something about a debt that happens when you free someone's magic."

"A debt? I don't like the sound of that."

"We didn't think you would," Hermione answered. "So we're going to do more research on it."

"You're going to go back to the Manor?" Harry asked, alarmed.

"Er, no, we didn't actually discuss that," said Ron.

"I thought I could try the Hogwarts library as well, and maybe even the Central Wizarding Archive; I'm sure Kingsley would let me in if you asked him ..." Hermione asked, in a voice that made it clear that she would have batted her eyelids at him if she'd thought it would have worked.

"I don't think you're telling me everything," Harry said suspiciously. He wasn't at all pleased at being asked to use his influence with the Minister. He was painfully aware that being famous was more of a curse than a blessing, and calling in favours wasn't going to help that one bit.

He had been having such a good day, but it looked like that might not last.

"That's because we don't know everything," Hermione answered. "We came away still not quite trusting Lucius, so we need to find some independent corroboration before we do anything."

"But it looks like the Shield is temporary, and you won't be forced into a bond." Ron continued.

"Which is not to say you can't go into one willingly," Hermione added.

"OK, that makes sense," said Harry, mollified. "Hang on, what? Hermione!" To cover his embarrassment, he took a sip of his tea. It was just how he liked it: piping hot, with a liberal dose of honey. _Thank goodness for warming charms_, he thought.

Ron continued, "Malfoy – Draco, not Lucius – asked how you were. I think he does actually care about you, you know. He wasn't sure about being bonded either, but he didn't just dismiss it. So maybe you can work something out?"

"Yeah, OK. Thanks, guys, I really appreciate you going there today." He wordlessly wandlessly Summoned another biscuit, which made Ron raise his eyebrows.

They hadn't told him much. But he had to admit, what they had said gave him hope: a debt could presumably simply be cancelled, and if the bond wasn't set then Draco and he might just stay as friends. He didn't want to be forced into anything, nor force Draco.

And Draco cared about him? Those words about a possible relationship kept coming up in his head: _I've been … wondering if that's what you wanted._ He was beginning to think he did. And the way he had said it, Draco wanted it too…

It was still a good day, he decided.

* * *

They'd returned to the Burrow in time for a light meal. Though Harry didn't really think that curried chicken on a huge bed of rice with pappadums and roti and chutneys and cucumber raita really met that description. He'd never eaten so well as at the Burrow! There was no way the Dursleys would ever have eaten Indian food – "it might burn our sensitive stomachs", they would have said. As if.

He flopped down in an armchair afterwards, groaning about how much food he'd eaten.

"You didn't have to eat it," the twins pointed out to him, "and you did have two helpings of trifle / and a lot of ice-cream."

Ron perked up at this. "Ice-cream? There's ice-cream? I didn't get any!"

"Oh, our Harry had Fortescue's today, didn't you, little brother?" Fred said, with a grin.

"Neville and me, too," said George, an even wider grin spreading across his face. The grins must be contagious, Ron thought; Harry seemed to have caught one too...

"So that's where you went!" Ginny butted in. "Off eating ice-creams without me, eh?"

They were interrupted by a crackle in the fireplace. It was Narcissa Malfoy, placing a Floo-call from Andromeda's house.

"Good evening all," she said, "I was wondering if I could have a word with Harry?"

"Of course, Narcissa," he replied, jumping up and standing in front of the Floo. "Would you like me to step through?"

"I think that would be best," she replied.

He suited the action to the words. Auror Proudfoot followed him, told Narcissa, "don't mind me, ma'am," and took up Auror duty next to the fireplace.

Andromeda came in, hugging Teddy, and offered them all tea. She handed her grandson over to Harry, who was very pleased to accept a cuddle from him, and went into the kitchen. It wasn't long before she came back with four steaming mugs of tea and a plate of ginger cake. Harry was sure he didn't need any cake, but of course politeness forced him to eat a slice. The second slice, he admitted to himself, was pure greed.

"Harry, I need to talk to you about the arrangements for the general memorial tomorrow," Narcissa began, once they were all seated and Teddy had drifted off to sleep in Harry's arms. "Of course, Draco wants to go, but the Aurors are very concerned that he will be an obvious target for anti-Death-Eater violence. As such, they are insisting on certain precautions, that perhaps Auror ..

".. Proudfoot, ma'am," the auror supplied, helpfully. "Auror Toby Proudfoot at your service."

"Thank you. Perhaps you could explain?"

"I take it that we're insisting on a Cuffing spell for the day?"

"A Cuffing spell?" Harry asked.

"It's the magical version of something the Muggles call 'hand-cuffing'," Proudfoot continued. "It's a spell cast on two people that forces them to stay in physical contact the whole time. Makes sure that no-one can abduct the person being protected, or surprise them alone." _Also makes sure they can't run off and make mischief_, he didn't add.

"As you can imagine, Draco is not in favour of the idea," Narcissa continued. "But I was wondering if you might volunteer? I think he would be happier with that arrangement ..."

Harry swallowed hard. He could see through the ruse: this was about as close as Narcissa Malfoy was likely to get to telling him she accepted whatever was going on between them. And more than merely accepted: she was even encouraging them to be together.

"Um, have you discussed it with him?"

"No, I thought it would be better to let you say 'no' if you wanted to, without feeling that you had to say 'yes' so as not to disappoint him."

_Smooth_, Harry thought. Even telling him that she wasn't pushing him into it was doing so: he might not disappoint Draco, but Andy and Toby Proudfoot would know all about it. He didn't really have a choice. But it didn't matter anyway, he decided; in truth, he rather liked the idea ...

"OK," he said, "I'll do it. That is, if the Aurors are OK with the idea?" he asked Toby.

"Im sure that will be quite alright, sir," the Auror replied.

"Thank you, Harry," said Narcissa, quite genuinely. "Draco can't leave the Manor unescorted, of course, so could you please be at the Manor at two thirty tomorrow afternoon?"

It was agreed, and they spent a little longer chatting about the day. Narcissa seemed pleased to learn that Diagon Alley was getting back to normal, and both women laughed at the thought of Harry eating ice-cream sundaes all day.

"It wasn't **all** day," he said, petulantly.

At this point, Teddy woke up all of a sudden, rather smelly, and Harry got some more practice changing nappies.

They settled him down, and Harry and Toby Proudfoot returned to the Burrow.

* * *

"Good day, mate?" Ron asked, as they got into their beds that evening.

Harry thought back on the day.

The morning with the twins had been so much fun; he had really enjoyed repairing the shops and seeing hope and joy in the shopkeepers' eyes had been priceless. The ice-cream had been wonderful, too, of course. He could see in his mind's eye the street bustling again, sure, not all the old shopkeepers would be there, but they would recover.

The family around the table at lunch, just being normal, that had been great. Everyone lounging together, being easy with each other, was such a precious thing to a man who had grown up with a family who deliberately excluded him from such times. And Molly's excitement at having "all my children" around her was so heart-warming. That he was regarded as one of those children brought a lump to his throat.

Cuddling Teddy, even changing his nappy, that was special too. It made him practically a father, and he definitely felt included by Andy; and, yes, even by Narcissa. The boy whose family had rejected him was becoming a man belonging to two families.

And there was something going on between George and Neville; George had looked so happy. And he took hope from the fact that Fred so obviously didn't mind. Maybe the Weasleys really would accept it if there was something in his relationship with Draco.

Maybe there was hope for a happy life for him yet.

And Ron had told him Draco cared about him. That Draco didn't know if they would end up married, but hadn't ruled it out.

Dare he hope?

He dared.

Good day?

"Yeah," said Harry, with a grin. "Wonderful day."

* * *

**_Author's Note:_**

_This version has been lightly edited to conform to fanfiction's rules (no MA content). You can find the original version on archiveofourown dot org.  
_

_Thank you to all you lovely people who are following my story! And especially big thanks to Bicky Monster for saving my bacon and yet another sterling job of proof-reading._

_Please remember, I love your reviews.  
**MirrorFlower and DarkWind**, really humbling to be told something is perfect, hope this chapter lives up to your expectations! _


	10. Dust Thou Art, to Dust Returneth …

**10. "Dust Thou Art, to Dust Returneth …"**

_Thursday, May 7 1998_

Harry Potter woke up slowly, a huge grin on his face. He had been dreaming of Draco; the conversation they had had in Gryffindor Tower had been playing over again in his mind. As he came fully awake he remembered with pleasure that he was going to see the blond today, and get to hold his hand, because of the Cuffing spell.

The idea of holding hands was very important to Harry. When he was young, almost the only touching he knew was when his aunt and uncle punished him, or Dudley beat him up; so he was only just learning that being touched could be safe. It was one of the things he loved about the twins: they were always mussing his hair, or throwing an arm round him, and it made him feel, deep down, that he really was loved. Having never been held lovingly as a child, he was very sensitive to physical contact, and he needed a lot of it. Having been punished and bullied, he needed it to feel safe. He knew that that was how he felt with the twins; it came as a bit of a revelation to him that shaking Draco's hand had made him feel the same.

He rolled out of bed. A muttered _tempus_ charm told him it was not long after six o'clock. Ron was still fast asleep, so he quietly got up and made his way to the bathroom and had a quick shower, then went downstairs to see if anyone was about and whether there was any chance of breakfast.

Molly was bustling about in the kitchen, getting breakfast for Arthur. He took a seat next to him.

"Harry, hope I didn't wake you," Arthur said to him, "I like to get to the office by seven o'clock if I can; it's astonishing how much more work I can get done when there's no-one else about."

"Here you are, Harry dear," Molly interrupted, as two waves of her wand brought a full plate of sausages, egg and bacon to the table in front of him and a cup of tea over from the kettle.

"Thank you, Molly, this looks amazing," he said "I don't think you woke me; I'd just slept enough," he said as he turned back to Arthur.

"Good. I'm afraid I have to leave you now," Arthur replied. Suiting the action to the word, in one fluid motion he got up, kissed Molly on the cheek, picked up his briefcase, and was gone.

"He works too hard, poor man," Molly sighed, sitting down with Harry as a cup of tea made its way to her. Her housekeeping spells, Harry reflected, were second to none. "Still, I've made Kingsley promise to shoo him out of the office at five every night."

"So, he is Kingsley's deputy now, then?"

"Oh, yes, he accepted on Monday and Kingsley moved him in the same morning."

They sat in a comfortable silence for a few minutes as Molly drank her tea and Harry made a small dent in the mountain of food in front of him. It made a useful distraction; there was a topic he knew he needed to discuss with her, but couldn't find the words to begin. She must have sensed his unease, and launched right in.

"Harry love, I had a little chat with Ginny yesterday afternoon."

"Oh," he said. "Um. Er…" _Top marks for coherent speech, Harry!_

Mrs. Weasley smiled at him. "It's alright, Harry. Seeing you apparently dead in Hagrid's arms affected her very deeply, I don't know that she would ever quite have got over it if you two were together – she'd always feel it was wrong that you were there with her alive, but remembering you dead. So it's probably for the best. And I'd say she's found another rather lovely young man, wouldn't you?"

Harry realized he had assumed before that it was Neville; wrongly, obviously, since he and George were evidently together (_I wonder if Molly knows that?_ He asked himself, but decided it wasn't his place to tell her if she didn't). So who was it then?

His face must have betrayed his ignorance, because Molly chuckled, and said simply, "You'll work it out in time. But you do know that I'll always think of you as my son, right? You don't have to be with Ginny for that, much though I would have loved it. Listen to your own heart, Harry; don't try to be what other people want you to be, or even what you may have wanted once. We all grow and change."

Harry nodded. He hadn't realized how much he had needed that reassurance until he received it.

"Oh and the _Prophet_ is here." All of a sudden her voice became stern and motherly. "It seems you had a lot of ice-cream yesterday, young man."

She handed him the paper as Harry groaned. There was a photograph of him outside Fortescue's, obviously taken with a long-range lens as Harry hadn't seen any photographers nearby. Underneath was the heading:

_**He's done it again!**_

_**Diagon Alley gets a facelift, courtesy of Our Saviour!**_

_**By Rita Skeeter**_

_Once again the Wizarding world is in awe of Harry Potter, the Destroyer of Voldemort. Yesterday when we all woke up, our beloved Diagon Alley was still wrecked, having been hit hard by Death Eater raids during the War against Voldemort. But trust our hero to have a plan! He arrived on the scene and by lunchtime, all of our most precious stores were back to rights!_

_Eyewitnesses report that Mr. Potter, with some help from Messrs Fred and George Weasley, used an incredibly complicated, and previously unknown, spell to effect this change. If so, we hope that he will share this spell with the Ministry and perhaps other destroyed buildings will be brought back to their former glory! You can be sure that the Prophet will publish any and all developments in this regard._

_**Inside:**__ Eyewitness accounts of the day p2; "My father gave him ice-cream; since he gave me my shop back, I could do no less": feature interview with Floriana Fortescue discussing the Boy Who Lived and a dozen ice-cream sundaes, p3; …_

Harry stopped reading at this point, having seen enough.

"You know it's all crap, right – um, sorry," he said, apologizing at the end for his language. "Except the ice-creams, I had them; but maybe not a dozen."

"That's all right, Harry, I'm a big girl now, and yes, I do know it's all lies," Molly replied. "Mad-Eye explained to me exactly what he'd done; it was brilliant, of course, and I told him so. I rather think he liked being told how good he was sometimes. And of course I understand that you were helping the twins, not the other way round. But Harry, listen, love, the Prophet thinks you can do no wrong now, and I know how much you hate that, and it is awful, but you should work out what you want to achieve and bend them to it. You know they'll go back to berating you soon enough; but right now you could use them as a powerful force for change."

"Isn't that a bit – Slytherin?" he asked, somewhat appalled by Molly's sneakiness.

She put her tea down, and looked at him, sternly, but not unkindly. "Harry, you're better than that. In the real world, people aren't divided into the four Hogwarts houses. There's some of all of them in each of us. That sort of thinking is exactly what we need to get rid of."

Harry looked abashed. She was absolutely right. He just hadn't thought it through.

"Take Draco Malfoy," she continued. "The world thinks of him as a Slytherin and a Death-Eater. I look at him and I see a poor child who was led badly astray, made some bad choices, and who is trying to work out how to deal with them. Of course he's scheming and manipulative, so-called Slytherin traits; but it took courage and perseverance to get that silly cabinet working; qualities any Gryffindor would be proud of. Even that horrible thing he did to Ron was an accident, caused by that evil man leaning on him, threatening to harm his family. The Aurors want to lock him up; but what he really needs is to be loved."

_Wow,_ Harry thought. He had not expected such understanding. He seemed to have underestimated his wonderful adopted mother. He plucked up courage to ask, "So, if this bonding thing happens … what would you think?"

"Harry, you very well know I think of you as my seventh son. As with any of my children, if someone makes you happy, I'll accept them with open arms and I'll move Heaven and Earth to get you together, if I have to. If it is Draco Malfoy, then we'll all deal with that. You follow your heart, love, and we'll always be there with you."

"Thanks, Molly," Harry whispered. He couldn't speak for the emotion choking his voice.

* * *

He sat on the sofa with a fresh cup of tea and thought about the upcoming day. The general idea of the afternoon's memorial was to finish off the wave of funerals with a service to remember all the fallen, but particularly those who couldn't have a proper funeral because their bodies had not been recovered, or their family were all gone. Harry was glad that he had only been to three funerals so far; by the time of the memorial, there would have been about forty, he knew, and he remembered bitterly that ridiculous schedule which Cornelius Fudge had drawn up which had him attending them all. He would have been dead by the end of Monday! Not to mention he'd have to miss many of the interments because the services were scheduled back-to-back.

He wondered why Snape's was scheduled after the memorial. He'd have to ask, tomorrow. Today was about remembering people who had nothing else to remember them by. It suddenly occurred to Harry that this included Vince Crabbe, who had perished in the Room of Requirement by Fiendfyre that he himself had cast. Draco had been very close to Vince. He wondered ….

He placed a Floo call to Professor McGonagall. She answered at once, despite the early hour.

"Potter, how nice to hear from you. How can I help you?" she said, in the calm, crisp tones he knew so well. Even calling him 'Potter' was so much in character that he had to fight not to think of himself back in school.

"Professor McGonagall, I mean, Headmistress, forgive me for interrupting you, but I remember you talked about having a word or two in private when we parted on Saturday, and I suddenly thought of something I'd like to talk about, to do with the ceremony this afternoon. May I come through?"

"Of course, Potter, I'd be delighted to see you. And don't worry about forgetting to call me Headmistress – it's going to take all of us a while to adjust to that!"

He went through into the familiar Headmaster's Study - Headmistress's, now, of course. All the familiar portraits of previous headmasters and –mistresses were there, together with a new one of Professor Snape. As Harry emerged from the Floo, Professor Dumbledore looked up from his frame above the large desk.

"Ah, Harry, how lovely to see you again. I hear that you and Mr. Malfoy are having quite an adventure?" he said, with the inevitable twinkle in his eye.

"Yes, sir" Harry replied simply, having no idea how else to respond to that. In his dark frame, Snape snorted. Harry ignored him, and looked around the study.

Professor McGonagall had furnished the room in a completely different style to those her predecessors had used. Instead of Professor Dumbledore's strange collection of magical devices, arranged on spindly tables dotted haphazardly around the room, there was no nonsense here; all was Spartan and utilitarian. It was clear that everything had its place, and by Merlin that's where it was going to be.

The room was furnished with several hard chairs, with straight backs; and even the lounge chairs set in a corner alcove didn't look particularly comfortable. But there was none of the gloom that always seemed to surround Professor Snape; instead of dark furnishings, everything was wood or tartan, with bright-coloured cushions for accent on the sofas.

He chuckled. McGonagall had certainly stamped her personality on the room already.

"Welcome," she said, reaching out both arms to him. He clasped her hands, and she led him over to the lounge chairs he had spotted. They were more comfortable than they looked; and to his surprise, the Headmistress handed him a piping-hot cup of tea with honey, just how he liked it.

She noticed his surprise, and let out a wry chuckle.

"Albus reminded me how you like your tea, Harry," she said, in a softer, more wistful voice than he had ever heard her use before. "Now," she said, becoming all business-like and efficient, "I should imagine by now that you are heartily sick of being thanked for your part in the war, but of course you have my grateful thanks. Your actions were truly remarkable, and I am very proud to call you one of my Gryffindors."

"Thank you, Professor," Harry said, blushing.

"We must also think of the future. I believe that Kingsley is very keen to get you into the Auror programme straight away; is that still what you want to do?"

She was looking at him shrewdly; _I don't think he knows himself_, she thought.

"Um, actually, I'm not sure I do, Professor. I'm sorry, I know you put your neck out for me to become an Auror with Professor Um-"

"Please," she interrupted him, "let's not talk about her. And I don't think she deserves that title, or ever did. But you have no need to be sorry; you must follow your own heart and not be beholden to what other people want for you, or even what you yourself used to want."

This was so like what Mrs. Weasley had said to him that he couldn't help the grin that broke out on his face.

"Thank you, Professor. Funnily enough, you're not the first person to say something like that to me today."

"Molly Weasley?" she asked, and smiled when he nodded. "Good. I'm glad you're staying at the Burrow, then; you need family around you. Now, let's not get side-tracked. If not the Auror programme, what does the future hold for you?"

Harry gulped. He'd been living in the moment for the last few days; he hadn't given any thought to his future career.

"I don't know," he said, simply. "I guess it's a bit hard, not having N.E.W.T.s or anything … Is there any plan to deal with that?"

"Yes, of course, The Ministry and I are working out an abbreviated intensive course for the students who took – or didn't take, in some cases," she said, looking at him with a mock-stern expression, "- seventh year last year; after all, none of the students who were here in seventh year have taken their N.E.W.T.s either. And the general feeling amongst the staff is that they didn't learn very much, what with the Carrows hassling them night and day. The plan is to start earlier than September, and to enlist the help of what will be our eighth years in restoring the castle to something approaching its former state. We will be announcing details of this programme as soon as they are finalized; but I should say, Harry, that the school would, of course, welcome you back with open arms if you chose to come."

"Thank you, Professor," he said, blushing again.

She took pity on him and asked, "You said you had something you wanted to talk about?"

"Oh yes!" he said, excitement returning to his voice. He explained what he wanted.

"Well, I suppose it's possible," she replied, somewhat dubiously, after considering his request. "And if anyone can do it, you can; so by all means, try."

"Thanks, Professor," he said with a grin.

* * *

He stood in front of the Room of Requirement, his heart beating an anxious rhythm. As far as he knew, it hadn't been used since the Fiendfyre. A cold fear gripped him: would it still work?

He passed in front of it three times, thinking about what he wanted. On the third pass, to his great relief, a black, funereal door appeared. Nervously, hopefully, he went in. The room was largely empty. Around the sides was all the mess and ash from the fire; that didn't bother him, he had asked for it. In the very middle of the room there was a clear space in which stood a low, round table, and on it was exactly what he had asked for. His heart leapt for joy. He was nervous for a different reason; he hoped that somehow this would bring some peace to that "poor child led badly astray".

* * *

That afternoon was the first opportunity to see if Lucius had been telling the truth about changing the wards at the manor to allow him unrestricted access. Happily, it turned out that he had; Harry was able to apparate without difficulty into Narcissa's study at two thirty, as agreed. The wards parted for him perfectly, and he had no trouble landing exactly where he wanted to.

Narcissa and Draco were there waiting for him. Narcissa was the very epitome of cool, calm and collected, but Draco's eyes went wide as he arrived. Harry couldn't remember ever seeing him look so agitated.

"I thought you'd want to accompany your girlfriend. But you're really prepared to do this? For me?" he asked, nervousness stamped all over his face. He was even shaking just a little. It was the least self-assured Harry had ever known him, and he found it endearing.

"I said I would," he replied, the tone making it quite clear that for Harry, the promise and the performance were the same thing.

"Thank you," Draco said, with so much feeling in it that Harry knew he really had been dreading the prospect of being Cuffed to an Auror. If what Molly said was true, Harry could see why.

Harry didn't know the Auror present, so he introduced himself: "Hi, I'm Harry Potter."

The man sneered at him. "I know," he replied. He paused, just a touch longer than was polite, before continuing, "Auror Crockford". He inclined his head very slightly to Harry, but did not offer his hand.

"Right," said Narcissa briskly, obviously wanting to gloss over the incivility of the moment. "Now, I believe you will need to cast the Cuffing spell?"

"Yes," the Auror said, with a tiny trace more politeness. Apparently Narcissa's nobility rubbed off even on this unusually rude man. "Now, you two, put your wrists together."

"Pardon?" Draco asked, in that tone often used by mothers speaking to naughty three year old children.

The Auror sighed. "Put your wrists together, Mr. Potter's left over Mr. Malfoy's right, _please_." It was obvious that they had been fighting on this point for a while. Harry had to hold in his amusement at the Auror being treated in this way, as if he were yet to learn manners. _Probably about right_, he thought.

They put their wrists together, and the Auror mumbled an incantation. A yellow ribbon of light came out of his wand and snaked around their wrists, then vanished.

"Until the spell is cancelled, you will be forced to remain in contact with one another at all times. Take care when Flooing, it can be very painful if you don't co-operate."

With that, the Auror went through the Floo himself, without seeming to care if they followed him or not.

"He's a piece of work, isn't he," said Harry, taking a firm grip on Draco's hand. Draco looked at him in surprise.

"We don't have to actually hold hands," he said.

"No," Harry agreed, "but I want to."

Draco stared at him for a moment. He hadn't expected this; being Cuffed would explain touching, but this was more deliberate. It was making a statement. Draco wondered if it was a statement he agreed with.

And then he decided. He smiled in assent. "Let's go!" he said.

And, hands clasped together, they did.

* * *

The Chapel was much larger than Harry remembered. When they arrived, Auror Proudfoot was standing near the Floo; there was no sign of Auror Crockford, for which Harry was quite grateful.

Proudfoot greeted them cheerily. He must have noticed Harry's surprise at the size of the room, as he said, "the chapel has been enlarged as we expect a much bigger congregation today. I found out that's the reason why we took the extra precautions for Mr. Malfoy here. Oh, and, just in case you're wondering, I sent Auror Crockford out to stand duty at the front door."

"Thank you," Draco said, with evident relief.

"Yes, well, not many of us like him either, I'm afraid. A stickler for the rules and a right pain in the arse. Anyway, please take your seats; the Weasleys and company are keeping the same places as before for you."

Harry and Draco made their way to the front and found their seats. The seating was a little different this time: Ginny was missing, so Harry was seated next to Neville; then came George and Fred, and then at the end was Angelina Johnson. Harry smiled at her; he remembered her from Hogwarts, of course; he vaguely recalled that Fred had been sweet on her. He would have to rag him about it later.

Where, he wondered, was Ginny? He looked around the room and eventually spotted her, seated next to Auror Robin Banks. They were lounging together like old friends, and Ginny looked happier than he had seen her for months.

And then the sickle dropped. He hadn't thought about it before because he always thought of Ginny being so young, and Aurors so old. But she would be seventeen in August; and Robin Banks was only just twenty. They made a wonderful couple together; it was obvious that he made her happy. He had to agree with Molly: Ginny had found a rather lovely young man.

Draco noticed his distraction and asked him about it.

"Ginny and I broke up," he explained, "and now she's over there with Auror Robin Banks."

"Jealous?" Draco asked. He knew he would have been.

"Not at all," Harry said, surprised. He was happy for Gin; it hadn't occurred to him to be jealous. "We wouldn't have worked; in some ways I think she's too noble for me." Draco looked askance at him, so Harry tried to explain a little further. "It's hard to put into words. I know Gin would be there for me, support me, but she wants me to be perfect. I'd be on a pedestal again. I need someone who's prepared to stand up to me, to accept that I'm broken too. She doesn't deserve that; she deserves someone sweet and whole, and I think she and Robin are perfect together."

Draco was stunned. While he'd been practically alone in the Manor, doubt had been gnawing at him. He had been talking himself out of the idea of being with Harry: he knew Harry had a girlfriend and he had been telling himself that 'goody-two-shoes Potter' wouldn't want a Death Eater as a friend, never mind a companion, and that it was only a matter of time until he came to his senses and ended their relationship. If they even had one.

But now look at his actions: Harry had come to the Manor specifically so that Draco didn't have to be Cuffed to that odious Crockford; he had deliberately held Draco's hand when he could have just kept wrists together; and now the bombshell that he and Weaselette had broken up, that he wanted someone who would stand up to him … Someone to slap him when he needed it, perhaps?

Draco was roused from his reverie when Harry was asked to say a few words, and agreed. Of course, as they were Cuffed together, Draco had to stand up and go to the front with him. He listened politely as Harry said some heartfelt words about the dead. Then Harry continued,

"You've all noticed that I'm standing here with Draco Malfoy. That's because the Aurors wouldn't let him come without being Cuffed – magically joined to another wizard – for his protection"

"And ours, from the Death Eater," someone called out in a fierce whisper.

Harry glared in the direction the words had come from. "That is exactly what I want to talk about. We don't get to decide who lives and who dies – none of us would have chosen for any of the people we mourn today to have died. So we have to take care of the ones we have. We have to move on from demonizing one another as 'Death Eaters' or 'blood traitors' or anything else. We have to treat people as themselves. I believe the best way we can remember those who died, the best way to honour them, is to work against the mistakes that let Voldemort become so powerful. To deal with the prejudice we show one another. To reach out to one another with a hand of friendship. To rebuild our society based on love, not fear. That's why I decided that Draco Malfoy didn't deserve to be shackled to an Auror and hidden away in a corner, cowering from the Wizarding world. He deserves a second chance. He has lost friends too; why shouldn't be allowed to grieve openly too? We have each saved the other's life; the past seems so unimportant when that happens. That's why I stand here today to tell you that I am proud to call Draco Malfoy my friend, and anyone who attacks him attacks me too."

With that, the two of them made their way back to their seat, Harry taking exaggerated care with Draco to show that he wasn't just there because he had to be, because they were Cuffed, but that it really was Harry's choice to welcome him to the front.

Draco was deeply moved by this. Harry was deliberately putting him in the limelight, letting it be known that he wanted healing, not a return to fighting.

Part of Draco was wondering how long the attack would be coming; this was an open challenge, after all. But also, he was beginning to allow himself to hope that perhaps his life might not have gone completely down the toilet…

* * *

The ceremony was quite short, and they all went outside to bury what remains there were of the departed. A Ministry official gave a short (by Ministry standards) speech, concluding with those poignant words "In the midst of life we are in death. Dust thou art, and unto dust thou shalt return. Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust. May they all rest in peace, and live on in our memories."

As he spoke, Draco became quite mournful: he was thinking about Crabbe. The boy had been an absolute idiot to cast a spell he didn't know how to counteract, of course; and he had nearly got them all killed; but nonetheless, he and Goyle had effectively been Draco's bodyguards for six years, and the three had become quite close.

It hurt him very much to think that there was nothing of him to bury. Until his eyes, wandering over the caskets, spotted a small urn of ashes. It had a crest on that he would have known anywhere: the Crabbe crest.

Someone had found Crabbe's ashes. There was only one person who could possibly have done it. He turned to Harry, wide-eyed.

"Harry, how did you …"

"I wondered if the Room of Requirement could give me at least his ashes, Draco. And it did. I knew that you would be feeling his loss. He deserved to be remembered, and buried properly, and I hoped that if we actually buried him, it would give you a sense of finality and help you move on …"

When people with strong self-control lose it, they tend to lose it altogether. At these words, realizing how much Harry had done for him, how much he had thought about him and sought his good, Draco broke down completely. He turned his head into Harry's chest and began to sob uncontrollably. Strong arms encircled him and Quidditch-calloused fingers rubbed his back even as his own arms shifted to hug the other man.

Harry was muttering soft words of comfort to his friend. He knew that other people would be watching, but right now he didn't care. Draco hugging him … this was what he had wanted, all week. These were the arms he wanted around him. This was the person he wanted snuggled into his chest. He had acted to try to comfort Draco; but he realized that it was really him who was being comforted.

Sooner than Harry would have liked, Draco broke away. "Can't have people talking," he said. But, however worried he was, he kept hold of Harry's hand. Fortunately, there was a general groundswell of emotion at the same time, so perhaps they might not have been noticed.

No chance. It was at this point that the attack came. Curses came at them from at least three different directions. Draco heard a "_STUPEFY_" a "_CONFRINGO_" and, most worrying of all, someone cast "_SECTUMSEMPRA_". He huddled into Harry again, wondering how they dared to risk their Saviour like this; at this range, there was no chance of hitting one of them and sparing the other.

Harry's wand was out in a flash and he yelled _"PROTEGO MAXIMA"._ The Shield charm burst out of his wand, an emerald-green light enveloping them. Draco knew a great deal about shield charms: his father had drilled him in them as an essential part of the armoury of the Dark Lord's followers. But he had never seen a charm cast as strong as this by a single wizard. He would have said he knew Harry Potter well, after watching him for seven years; but everything he did today seemed to take him totally by surprise. Seeing the power he wielded in the shield brought home forcefully that this really was the wizard who had destroyed the Dark Lord.

And then the curses and charm hit something. It became clear that the two of them were encased in a shield of magic which the other spells could not penetrate. As the curses hit it, they became visible as blobs of colour, surrounded by a thin border of green, silver and red threads entwined together; as the Protego hit, it seemed to reinforce the other shield and they pulsed together with power. Two of the curses were thrown off and dissipated completely; but the _Sectumsempra_ was evidently too strong for that; it was pushed back to the caster. Draco heard a gasp. The wizard who had cast it had managed to put up his own Shield charm; but it was not quick or strong enough: the curse broke through and sliced off his former friend Theodore Nott's wand arm.

There could be no question now. The Haussmann Shield that Harry had cast was definitely an Endurant Shield. That meant it was part of their lives now. Somehow, they would have to work out what it meant to have this shared protection. What that meant for the Debt and the Bond remained to be seen; he couldn't be sure if they would rule his life. But some things were clear. He could not rely on his own magic, if there was such feeling against him; there was no way he would have survived those three curses by himself. He could not rely on his friends and former allies; if Theo was prepared to curse him, his standing as Prince of Slytherin was gone. He couldn't rely on the Ministry for justice; even now, none of the Aurors had taken any action to find the curse-casters.

One thing was certain: ther was no certainty for Draco anywhere, unless with Harry Potter. Humbled by the thought, not caring how weak it made him look, he squeezed closer to 'the Saviour of the Wizarding World'.

At that moment, his saviour. His only safety.

Harry must have read his mind. "It's all right, Draco," he promised, "I'm here. You're safe with me."

And Draco, at that moment, for the first time, felt that it was really true.

* * *

**_AUTHOR'S NOTE: _**_Thanks to Bicky Monster for a wonderful job as a beta, and all who comment, follow and favorite! Love you all!_


	11. Was not Spoken of the Soul

**11. "… Was not Spoken of the Soul"**

_Friday, May 8 1998_

Draco Malfoy woke up at four o'clock in the morning, his head pounding. Just how much fire-whiskey had he drunk last night? An image came back to him with shocking clarity: Theo Nott shrieking in pain, his arm severed off. His wand arm. The arm that he had just used to send a Sectumsempra curse at Draco and Harry.

The memory still terrified him. It had taken him ages, and a Calming Draught, to calm down after Harry had apparated them back to the Manor. Then he had had to face dinner with his parents – his mother looking solicitous, his father looking daggers at him. They had, of course, discussed the events of the day; Draco had explained about the three curses aimed at them, and the Haussmann Shield reappearing. His father's expression darkened even further. Draco had decided not to put up with this any longer.

"Wurzle got your tongue, father?" he asked, forcing a mischievous grin onto his face, "or did you swallow something you didn't like?"

His father had lightened a bit at this. "I had hoped he would have asked about cancelling the debt by now," he'd said. "But apparently he's not quite _that_ Gryffindor."

"I don't think we should rely on stereotypes, father," Draco had replied. "Everything he does lately comes as a surprise."

His father had raised his eyebrows at this, but the conversation had been moved on to safer topics by his mother. It wasn't until somewhat later they had returned to discussing the Debt. Lucius and he were alone in the study, drinking fire-whiskey together. It was a shocking thought that they hadn't been able to do this in peace since before Voldemort had occupied the Manor. His father had been uncharacteristically anxious as he explained what he had learnt about the workings of the Debt. Apparently, there was a small amount of time – not more than a week – after the Debt was incurred during which Harry could waive the debt entirely; that gave them two more days at most, and Draco was quite unsettled to realise that his Father was now despairing that anything would come of it.

After this first period had passed, and the debt could no longer be waived entirely, there were unavoidable consequences that could never be undone. Chief among them, at least as far as Lucius was concerned, was that it would become impossible to harm Harry or lie to him in any way – including by omission: they would be forced by the debt to protect him, and to tell him anything that they were aware of that concerned him. But only if he was there with them; they would not have to seek him out to do it.

Draco could understand why this was such a big deal to his father. Politics was Lucius' very life-blood, and lying, deception and concealment were essential to politics. To be robbed of these weapons, that he had wielded with such skill and ease for so long, would cripple him. But Lucius would have to learn to live with that, if it came to it.

Part of him wondered if he should have the same concern for his own future. But Draco was not his father; he had different worries and concerns to the older Malfoy. Right now, feeling lonely and sleepy in the early hours of the morning of Severus Snapes' funeral, it was time to think about what he wanted; after all, it wasn't just his father's life that could be irrevocably changed by this whole situation. He was sure that Severus, his godfather, would have told him to sort that out: how often over the years had Snape told him to grow up and be his own man?

He thought about the lines he had heard at the service: '_dust thou art, to dust returneth'._ Snape had quoted them to him. His Muggle father had been fond of reading poetry, when he wasn't busy getting blind drunk and beating his wife and son up; and that poem had stuck in his godfather's mind. The next line, he recalled, was '_was not spoken of the soul_'. What did that mean?

As Draco mulled the words over in his mind they suddenly came together in startling clarity: _"Dust thou art, to dust returnest," was not spoken of the soul._

So, the verse was telling him that his soul didn't end with death? That it went on? He wasn't sure about this. Could there be an enduring purpose to his life? Such as what though? What purpose could the life of a reviled former Death Eater possibly serve?

And then he remembered those strong arms around him. He remembered how Harry had been almost shaking, and calmed down when they had touched. All at once it struck him that there was something different here. Physical attraction, perhaps; definitely, from Draco's side, he admitted to himself. But there was more to it than that, he was sure. He focussed on that moment between them, trying to remember everything that had happened, everything he had felt. It had felt like Harry really needed to hold Draco. Somehow, that physical contact was needed to bring him back to himself.

Why?

"_He needs your comfort"_, a voice said, inside his head. _Comfort?_ Somehow, he didn't doubt it; but the thought raised as many questions as it answered. He couldn't see how Harry Potter, with his fame, his friends and his fortune could possibly need comforting. _How could this be?_ He asked himself.

All at once he had a vision of an obscenely fat man with little eyes like pigs', and his huge hand striking a tiny boy, who cowered and whimpered and longed for someone, anyone, to come and cuddle him. And he recognized that little boy; there was no mistaking the scar, even then, on the head of the young Harry Potter.

He wondered who the man could be. He had certainly never seen him before. He knew that Harry had been brought up by Muggles; but surely, this man could not have been in charge of the little boy hero? Surely Harry would have been fêted and spoilt, not beaten and left alone.

Two emotions washed over Draco.

One was anger: how could this be? How could anyone dare to strike the Boy-Who-Lived? The force of the emotion shocked him: he knew at once that if he ever met the man, he would not be able to restrain himself from killing him. Anyone who could do that to any small child, never mind to Harry Potter, did not deserve to live.

The other was relief.

Harry had friends and fame and fortune now, but he had never known any of them when growing up. And Draco suspected that no-one else had any idea how much Harry had suffered. If Harry had told anyone else, the Slytherins would have found out, he would have known about it long ago.

He now understood, not completely of course, but it was a beginning; and with that he found a purpose. Harry needed someone to accept him unconditionally, totally, not for what he had done or the riches he possessed, but for himself. Someone to help him heal the wounds of the past.

Draco knew now that that was his purpose. Harry needed him. He didn't know where that fact would take them; but for the first time in a long time, he looked forward to what the day might bring.

* * *

It was the second day in a row that Harry Potter woke just after six o'clock. _Good thing, too_, he thought; Snape's funeral was at eight o'clock. Even in death, it seemed, the old Potions master was determined to be awkward; though the thought amused more than annoyed him.

He had been surprised to learn that no-one else from the Burrow would be attending the funeral. It turned out that Snape had left very detailed instructions: the funeral was to be private; it was not to be held during any official period of mourning (which explained why it came after the Memorial Service); and only a very few invited guests were to attend. Now that he knew Snape had been in love with Lily all his life, Harry was sure that he had been invited as his mother's son; certainly not because of his father!

He thought back to the previous evening. He had trembled with rage after the attack, but Draco was there with him, and obviously needed his support, so Harry pushed his anger down, making Draco's safety his priority for the moment. He was glad for the distraction which gave him something to focus on. He always found it easier to deal with his feelings when he had something to do. He had apparated the trembling blond back to Malfoy Manor straight away, to ensure there was no chance of any further attacks, leaving the Aurors to deal with the situation as best they could. Auror Crockford had returned to the Manor by Floo, with the other Malfoys, soon after, and practically shouted at him that the Malfoys were not allowed to apparate. Narcissa, standing behind him, had mouthed "don't antagonize him", and Harry had decided to accept the hint; he apologized to the Auror, pointing out that it hadn't been Draco's fault. This seemed to mollify him a little, and earned Harry a grateful smile from Narcissa.

Draco had been badly shaken by the curses, and had not stopped hugging Harry for nearly an hour. In the face of this obvious need, Harry found it easy to swallow his anger down even further in favour of taking care of his distressed friend. Eventually, Draco had let them give him a Calming Draught, and Narcissa had taken him up to bed. She had returned to her study a short while later, and she and Harry had discussed the events of the day further.

Harry was fairly shaken himself, but in a different way. Now that he was sure that Draco was safe and well his anger was fighting its way back up, warring with his concern for Draco and the difficulty he had dealing with the idea of compulsion: if the Shield was still there, did that mean that the relationship that was growing between them was a lie?

He tried his best to explain this all to Narcissa; in the end, she had pointed out that they had been obsessed with each other long before the events of the previous Saturday – in Draco's case, even before he first offered to shake Harry's hand – and Harry accepted that perhaps they were merely being pushed along a road they both wanted to take anyway. The idea didn't set his mind completely at rest, but it perhaps eased his concerns somewhat and so when Narcissa invited him to come to the Manor for lunch after Snape's funeral, he was happy to accept. It was strange to think that he wanted to come back to the Manor, the place he had such unhappy memories of, but the truth was he really wanted to talk more with Draco.

He had Flooed back to the Burrow soon afterwards to find everyone waiting for him. And that did mean everyone: George and Neville were there, Fred had brought Angelina, and Ginny was sitting on Robin's lap. He was hugged all round and they all sat together in the Weasley's lounge, the others obviously concerned for him after the events of the afternoon and wanting to hear his take on what had happened.

They were outraged to hear of the attack, and Robin had been scathing of the Aurors who had been there and their lack of action. As it happened, he and Auror Proudfoot had been tasked with keeping the chapel secure, so had been unable to help.

Harry was glad to have Robin's support; it did make it easier to feel justified in his lack of trust in the Aurors when their own colleague agreed with the sentiment. He had then repeated Narcissa's words, and Arthur and Molly had nodded vigorously.

"Follow your heart, Harry love," Molly had said to him. "You have to live without regrets – imagine the pain ten years from now if you didn't try, and wished you had?"

_Shit!_ He thought, suddenly coming back to the present. It was now nearly quarter to seven; he'd sat too long thinking about the night before, he had to get moving. It was a good thing that he had learnt to have lightning-fast showers at Hogwarts, or miss out on breakfast altogether. He had missed enough breakfasts at the Dursleys'.

* * *

When Harry got to the chapel, with twelve minutes to spare, he found out just how 'private' Snape had meant. The only people there, apart from the inevitable Ministry officials and Aurors, were Kingsley Shacklebolt, representing the Order of the Phoenix; the Malfoys; and Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick, representing Hogwarts. Harry went and sat next to Draco, who immediately grabbed his hand.

Harry looked at him quizzically. "We don't have to hold hands," he said.

"No," Draco agreed, "but I want to."

Harry stared at him for a moment, and then he remembered saying the same thing the previous day. A broad grin came across his face as he happily gripped the blond's hand firmly.

* * *

The service was very short; there was no Ministry speech, Severus had specifically forbidden it, to Harry's private delight. In its place, unusually, was the reading of Snape's Will. This turned out to be extremely simple: apart from a few bequests to individuals, Snape had left his entire stock of potions and equipment to "perhaps my most promising student in recent times, Mr. Draco Malfoy"; and the bulk of his estate to "surely my least promising student in recent times, Mr. Harry Potter". The gift, though not the description, came as a shock to Harry; but Narcissa assured him that it was the measure of how much Severus Snape had truly loved Lily Potter. Given this, Harry felt he could not refuse.

There was just one item that was left to Harry individually: a book wrapped in black cloth. When he opened the cloth, he found his old Potions textbook from Sixth Year, the one that had belonged to the Half-Blood Prince (who had turned out to be Severus himself) and which he had believed had been lost in the Room of Requirement when the Fiendfyre swept through. There was a note on the book, in Snape's spiky handwriting: _To Mr. Potter, to remind him that he is not as good at hiding things as he thinks he is; in the hope that he will learn from it and prove unworthy of my low opinion of his skills in my subjects._ Harry didn't miss the sly reference to his lack of Occlumancy, as well as Potions, skill; but he took the whole, coming from Snape, as a huge compliment. It was, after all, an encouragement to him to continue his studies and a suggestion that Snape thought him capable of better things. The man had never even hinted at such a thing while Harry had been at Hogwarts.

At that moment Harry made some momentous decisions. If Snape held out hope for him, he would accept McGonagall's offer, he would go back and finish his studies. But it would not only be because he owed it to Snape. Running away into the Auror programme, he realized, was a safe option. Not an easy option, to be sure; but he would always feel that he had been accepted because of his fame, rather than his ability. He would be living the life of the Famous Harry Potter. But that wasn't him. He had always known he didn't really want that. No, he wanted to be Just Harry. He wanted to earn his place, if that was his fate, fair and square. But above all, he wanted to live his own life, not one chosen by someone else.

And a big part of that life at the moment was the burgeoning desire in his heart to see justice done, instead of revenge. There was too much ill-feeling about Death Eaters, he thought, harking back to the activities of the previous day with a shiver. No, that was prejudice, and just as bad as the old prejudices about blood. He could not get the image of Albus Dumbledore believing that everyone deserved a second chance out of his mind.

To begin with, he decided, something needed to be done about the situation at the Manor: he simply did not trust Auror Crockford. And Kingsley being here gave him the perfect opportunity to get things sorted out. So after the interment, as everyone was milling about, having cups of tea and making small talk, having checked that Crockford was not in earshot, he went up to his friend, the Minister.

"Ah, Harry," said Kingsley. "I hear from Aurors Proudfoot and Banks that all is going well at the Burrow?"

"Yes, sir," Harry replied, and was cut off instantly: "None of that 'sir' stuff!" Kingsley reminded him.

"Sorry, Kingsley," he continued. "In fact, Auror Banks is becoming like one of the family."

Kingsley gave him a sly look. "Ginny?" he asked.

Harry was a bit miffed that he'd worked it out so fast, given that Harry had missed it for a day or more. "Yes si- Kingsley," he said. "But I don't think all is quite so well at Malfoy Manor."

"Really?" said Kingsley, "I did hear that there was an issue with apparition yesterday."

_Right_, Harry thought. He had been told about the apparition, but obviously not about the cursing. He decided to take the Minotaur by the horns, and gave Kingsley a very full account of events of the previous day, including the curses and Shield, and the fact that none of the Aurors appeared to have done anything to prevent the attack or assist them during it. And he repeated what Crockford had said to him afterwards about apparition. He was very careful to avoid blowing up with the anger that was once again running white-hot within him as he replayed it all in his mind; while he didn't actually complain about Crockford, he knew if he stuck to the facts that Kingsley would draw his own conclusions.

"Hmm," the Minister said at last. "I see what you mean. I think we need to do something about this." He looked around the room, spying the Auror who had taken Narcissa and Draco back to the Manor on Saturday afternoon. "Auror Godwin, would you come here, please?" Then he turned to Harry and said, "Go and keep an eye on the Malfoys please, Harry; I don't think either of us trusts Crockford with their safety and I'm sure Draco would like a word with you." Harry happily went over to him, trusting Kingsley to come up with a plan with Auror Godwin.

Draco was standing at the other end of the room with his parents, under the watchful eye of Auror Crockford, who was scowling as though he had just eaten a green-persimmon-flavoured Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Bean. Narcissa offered Harry a cup of tea, which he gratefully accepted. Lucius smiled at him; not the warm, welcoming smile the Weasleys would have given him, but encouraging none the less. Harry smiled back, remembering a time when they would have been more likely to hex each other.

He turned to the youngest of the Malfoys. "Draco, I wanted to see how you were after last night," he said. It was a lame opening, he knew, but it was about all he could think of. But Draco didn't tease him about it; he simply led them to a couple of seats nearby. They sat down and Harry cast a _Muffliato_ for privacy.

"Thank you for yesterday," he said. As soon as the spell was cast. "I apologize for my unusual behaviour, but I couldn't get over the fact that Theo cast that curse. His family is friends with mine, he's been my friend for ten years, and now it comes to this!"

Harry sighed. He could see Draco was only just holding tears at bay. Despite the changes he had seen in the other boy recently, it was still disconcerting to see such emotion displayed so openly. "You have nothing to be sorry about," he said, his voice so soft and gentle that Draco looked at him with wonder-filled eyes. He continued, remembering the time during the Horcrux hunt when he thought they'd lost Ron's friendship, "I can understand how losing a friend would make you feel," his tone making it clear that Draco didn't need to discuss it further if he didn't want to.

Which Draco didn't, so continued with, "and thank you for apologizing to that bastard Crockford; he didn't deserve it, but it made our lives a lot more bearable yesterday."

Harry was shocked by this; but of course the Malfoys were entirely dependent on the good graces of their guards for the time being; and from what he'd seen so far, Crockford's mercy and protection were about what you'd expect from a hungry Hungarian Horntail Dragon, not a Ministry-certified Auror. He was very glad he had had his little chat with Kingsley. He looked over at the Minister, who seemed to be finishing up with Auror Godwin.

Harry cast a _Finite_ to end his Muffliato as Kingsley came over to talk to Crockford. "Dandelus," he began, and Harry held back a snigger – the name was so close to 'dandelion', which was so inappropriate that it tickled his funny bone – "there have been some reports of possible Death Eater activity in Salford – I think that was your old patch, wasn't it?"

Crockford nodded. He looked vaguely hopeful; _maybe I'll get taken off scum-minding duty_, he wondered to himself.

"I'd like you to look into it if you would. Auror Barnes is available to partner to you, go back to the Ministry and tell him I want you both on the case straight after you have filed a full report on the activities at the Memorial yesterday." Kingsley stressed the 'full', leaving it in no doubt that he was not satisfied with the report so far. To forestall any comment, he continued straight on, "Tom Godwin will take over for you at the Manor."

Auror Crockford brightened considerably at the prospect of getting away from the Malfoys, even if writing a fuller report would be a chore. "Very well, sir," he said, in an official if-I-must voice that didn't fool anyone, and hurried off to Floo to the ministry immediately.

"Thank you," Harry said to Kingsley, very quietly. But not quietly enough, it seemed; Lucius came up to him and said, just as quietly, "Godwin is a much more tolerable man to deal with than Crockford; do I gather we have you to thank for this agreeable turn of events?"

Harry smiled, deprecatingly, and said, "really, you have to thank _Dandelus_ himself," stressing the name and not missing the sly smile that came to the corners of the older man's lips, "if he had been any use at all yesterday I think you'd still have the, um, _pleasure_ of his company."

"Well, that makes the first thing he's done yet that I could thank him for," Lucius replied.

* * *

"Harry, I read in the Daily Prophet that Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes is having a re-opening tomorrow. Will you be attending?" Narcissa asked him, as they sat at the lunch table. "More carrots?"

"Thank you," said Harry to the second question, accepting the plate that was passed to him. "Um, I haven't seen the Prophet today – I was a bit rushed this morning – " (Draco passed his napkin over his mouth at this point, ostensibly to wipe it, but in fact to hide the smirk that came involuntarily) " – but yes, I'm certainly planning on being there."

Lunch was quite a strained affair. Harry found out what Draco had meant about his father – the older Malfoy wasn't by any means rude, but it was as if he was barely there – clearly lost in his own thoughts. But this was Harry's first chance to follow up his conversation with Ron and Hermione on Wednesday, so he decided to jump in feet first, in true Harry Potter style.

"Lucius," he began, startling the Malfoy patriarch with this easy use of his first name, "Ron and Hermione mentioned you'd discovered something about a debt that happens when you free someone's magic. Could you tell me what you know?"

Lucius looked at him with concern in his eyes, careful not to actually stare. _DAMN!_ He thought. He had been hoping that Granger and Weasley would have discussed this with Harry; he now had less than a day to avoid the consequences.

There was nothing for it but frankness, he decided. If he told all, or nearly all, perhaps Harry would yet cancel the debt before its true power took hold. Although he knew perfectly well that this was making a virtue of necessity; the debt was already making it all but impossible for him to lie to Harry.

"You know about a Life Debt?" he asked. Harry nodded.

"A Debt of Magical Emancipation is like a Life Debt, only even stronger."

Harry looked puzzled. "How can anything be stronger than a Life Debt?" he asked.

"Because of honour. You can die with honour; but you can't live without magic with honour," Draco chimed in.

"So … this debt you owe me means you owe your honour to me?"

"Yes, and our sanity, and our lives," Lucius continued. "Every wizard on record who has lost his magic has lost his mind soon afterwards, and killed himself. The longest I ever read of anyone living was Cedric the Unfortunate, who had a Reaping Curse cast on him in 945. He lived for a mere three weeks after that. But it was, and still is, to my knowledge, the record."

"Oh," said Harry, somewhat shocked. He may not have particularly liked Lucius; but he was rather appalled at the thought that Voldemort's curse could have been, quite literally, the death of him; and Draco as well. "And that won't happen to you two?"

"No, you have saved us from that fate," Lucius admitted. "However, if the Debt is not cancelled soon, there are different consequences …" He could feel a pressure to elaborate, but he resisted. Just. Harry had to be coaxed in.

"Then what do I have to do to avoid them?" Harry responded, in wide-eyed innocence.

_This is almost too easy,_ Lucius thought to himself. "There is a form of words that is required; I could dig it out if you're interested …"

At Harry's nod, he excused himself from the table and fetched an old blue-bound book from his study. He opened it and passed it over to Harry; there in the middle of the page was written:

_**A Pronouncement – to cancel annul and terminate a  
Dette of Magickal Emanschipation  
And to manumitte those enslaved thereby**_

_Being a Wizard in full Knowledge and Understanding of the Nature of the Dette I hold,  
And seeking to release my Dettors therefrom,  
Do I this Day foreswear and adjure from maintaining such Dette  
Calling it cancelled and finished with,  
And I freely bind Myself to this Pronouncement and all its Consequences._

Lucius schooled his face to be impassive – easy after so many years of practice – but his heart was racing within him. So close … One might have forgiven Lucius for thinking that it was all over – here were the words, as far as he knew, Harry had but to speak them, not even mean them, and they were free. But he had forgotten the fierce spirit of the man in front of him. He still, in the back of his mind, thought of him as a boy to be manipulated and bullied, not a man to be reasoned with. That was about to change, radically.

"Bind myself?" Harry asked. "Consequences? What does that mean?"

It took all Lucius's self-control not to answer, with the debt pressing him to do so. He hesitated a fatal fraction of time too long.

"I can't do it, then, if you won't tell me," Harry continued, certain now that they were hiding something from him.

"There is something of a time crunch," Lucius began, but Harry cut him off.

"Then you need to explain quickly."

Lucius was trapped. To tell all would, he was sure, doom them; there was no way Potter would give up the chance of knowing he had their protection and truthfulness for life. To say nothing was equal doom: clearly, he was not about to say the words without more information. He did the only thing he could think of that might, just might, work.

"Draco?" he asked, turning to his son, his eyes pleading for help.

'Harry," Draco said, understanding what was needed, "let's go and talk about this in my suite."

_Suite?_ Harry thought. _Git._ _I don't even have a room, I'm sharing with Ron. _But then it occurred to him that he owned an entire house; and he should probably visit it soon. Brushing the thought aside, he followed Draco as they went to his suite. It turned out that it did deserve the name: Draco had his own bedroom, bathroom, study, library and sitting room. He took Harry into his bedroom, obviously the most private place, and sat him on the bed.

"I wanted to bring you in here because this room has the most powerful privacy wards of the whole Manor," he explained.

Harry gave a shy smile. He hadn't assumed that there was any other reason. Oh no. And his trousers didn't feel at all tight. Nor did his chest. Not at all.

Draco had noticed the tightness of trousers and chest, and gave an enticing smile of his own. _Clearly we are thinking along the same lines…_ he thought, which heartened him immensely.

"Harry, my father is worried because if the Debt becomes established, there are certain behaviours we will never be free from. He doesn't want to tell you because he thinks that if you know what they are, you won't cancel the debt, and he's afraid of being in your power."

"And what do you think?" Harry asked.

"Oh he's right about the debt, I'm sure of it. But not the rest. I'm not afraid of being in your power. Harry, the only happy moments I've known over the last week have all been with you. My father is too preoccupied with the trial we know is coming and this stuff about the Debt to give me any attention; my mother simply doesn't know how to help; my friends – what friends? Theo tried to cut me in half, and you too if he'd succeeded; the Aurors? Crockford hates me; I doubt the rest feel much different. No, the only future happiness for me is with you. I don't care where that takes us – friends, lovers, husband and husband; but I've decided that it's what I want."

Draco was aware of a delicious feeling creeping over him as he spoke. He knew it was the Debt; he was being brutally honest, at a depth he'd never revealed to anyone else before; and that was clearly the right thing to do. It made his heart sing.

All at once he knew the debt was established: he could never lie to this man, nor harm him. Why would he even want to? If he could, if this morning's voice told the truth, he wanted more than anything to comfort Harry, to take away the memories of the hurt dealt to him by the man with tiny piggy eyes. To hold him, caress him, to let him know how special he was, how safe he made Draco feel, how wonderful it was to be with him.

The emotion he felt spread itself across his face. Normally calm and reserved, closed off, it was open and honest and earnest. Draco's words and the look on his face put a smile on Harry Potter's face, a smile Draco would have given anything to keep there forever; to know that he was the one who had made Harry that happy turned his heart over, and he could no longer speak.

But words were now superfluous; Harry leant over to him, his lips ghosting on Draco's. They were so soft, so sensual, so deliciously warm, and without even thinking about it, Draco had lifted his hand and stretched out, holding the nape of Harry's neck, and stroking that hair. He'd always assumed that it would be rough and unpleasant; but it was fine and smooth and all of a sudden he couldn't get enough of it and both of his hands were combing through Harry's hair as their lips came together firmly and he inhaled the other man's scent.

It was a glorious feeling, and all of Draco's senses seemed to become incredibly acute. He was so completely aware of the look of those beautiful green eyes, the lust he saw there mirroring the lust he felt; the touch of those gorgeous, full lips on his; the smell that seemed to surround Harry that he couldn't describe, but was better than every smell he loved all run together; the taste of his mouth as they opened to each other and tongues slid together; and the amazing groans of lust and longing that Harry was making – and so was he, he discovered to his amazement.

It was pure bliss. For one all-too-brief moment, Draco Malfoy knew what it was to be simply and completely happy.

Then Harry pulled away. "I don't know!" he said, in a voice of terrible sadness. "Is this the debt? The bond? Am I pushing you? Are we being forced into this?"

"It doesn't matter, Harry," Draco said, looking at him, keeping his expression as earnest and open as he knew how. "This is **us**. This is how we are now. We have to live with it. Asking if we're being forced doesn't matter, surely; it's like asking if our hormones are forcing us. Even if they are, isn't that simply an unavoidable part of being together? A real part?"

Harry nodded at this, but didn't seem quite convinced.

"Look, we'll work it out together, OK?" he said. "But for now, I guess I should get back; I was only coming for lunch, the Weasleys will be wondering what happened to me."

"You will come back? Soon?" Draco asked, with an expression like an abandoned puppy in a dog's home: a look that said 'How could you leave me?' It melted Harry's heart.

"Of course," he said, giving Draco a soppy grin and gripping his hand for just a moment before apparating back to the Burrow.

* * *

_**AUTHOR'S NOTE**__: Draco quotes the second verse of Longfellow's __A Psalm of Life__:_

Life is real! Life is earnest!

And the grave is not its goal;

Dust thou art, to dust returnest,

Was not spoken of the soul.

_As you can see, the title of this chapter and the previous one come from here, so that the 'return' for this chapter is the return of the poem …_

_Thanks to Bicky Monster my beta, and all who follow, favorite and review._


	12. WWW dot Returns dot Joy!

**12. WWW . Returns . Joy!**

_Saturday, May 9 1998_

Saturday dawned, bright and cheery, if still quite chilly: it was, after all, still early May. Everyone was up early at the Burrow; there was a general feeling of relief, now that the funerals were all over, and excitement now that the day of the re-opening of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes had finally arrived. The twins' joke shop had been ready for days, as Harry, who provided the start-up capital by donating his winnings from the Triwizard Tournament of 1994, knew perfectly well; but the twins had been busy in every spare moment crafting new products and producing more stock.

Harry had been ecstatic to find that for once, he didn't feature in the Daily Prophet at all. He was fed up with the sycophantic rubbish they'd been printing all week, gushing endlessly about "Our Saviour" and how Rita Skeeter had such a special empathy with him – which made him want to hurl the paper into the fireplace, especially as he knew they would turn on him in a heartbeat if they thought it would sell more copies. The only thing Skeeter really empathised with was her Quick Quotes Quill, which probably wrote more of the interview than she did …

But this morning's headline simply announced

**TODAY'S THE DAY!**

_**WEASLEYS' WIZARD WHEEZES**_** GRAND RE-OPENING!**

Underneath was a photograph of George and Fred, smiling and winking in a most alarming manner, and, Harry was sure, some guff about how wonderful this was and how much the wizarding world needed their brand of whacky humour. He didn't bother to go on; why read about the twins when he had the real thing sitting grinning at him from across the breakfast table?

Their grins were infectious, and Harry found himself chuckling under his breath as he remembered their playful digs during the week – asking about the chaise-longue still made him laugh whenever he thought about it.

The twins were absolutely delighted to see the huge smile on their little brother's face.

"Operation _Happy Harry_ is working a treat," Fred whispered to George.

"Let's see if we can't get him shrieking with laughter," George replied, equally quietly.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking, Forge?" Fred whispered back.

"Always, Gred."

"Oh Haaarryyy," they sang together at him. Harry chuckled; what mischief were they up to now?

"Ye-es," he replied, with just a little trepidation. There was a sudden BANG; and Harry found himself six feet up in the air. The cushion he was sitting on had popped open like a balloon, and now surrounded him, so it felt as though he was sitting on a rather bouncy throne. After the initial shock, Harry did indeed howl with laughter, as the throne bounced up and down beneath him, and the sides came out like fingers and tickled him.

"Do you like our latest product?" The twins asked him. "We picked up the idea from a Muggle thing called a nairybairg. / Or something like that!"

"An air-bag!" Harry replied, breathlessly. Mr. Dursley had talked incessantly about the two in his car, he was very proud of them. Harry wondered just what he would say if his air-bags behaved like this, and the thought of Vernon Dursley six feet up in the air being tossed on a one-man bouncy castle that was tickling him to death made him laugh even harder. "Yes, it's great fun!" And then, as he was getting more out of breath, and starting to be concerned for his safety, "um, do you think you could let me down now?"

"Oh, sorry, Harry," they replied, and with a swish of their wands, the cushion gracefully collapsed back down and Harry found himself seated at the table once more.

"You guys are just amazing!" he said, weeping with laughter. "That landing was so smooth… how did you do it?"

"Ah, well, that, ah, that did take a bit of time to sort out," George admitted.

"Yes, we bruised ourselves rather badly before we worked out the spell completely," Fred continued.

There was a sharp tutting sound from Molly behind them, but she didn't say anything, and three plates heavily laden with bacon, sausages and eggs floated over to the table and settled in front of Harry and the twins. At the same time, two toast-racks came over from the toaster, one for Harry and one between the twins, and three mugs of tea floated straight from the kettle. And Harry's sweet tooth was not forgotten: a honey-pot followed his mug, pouring honey into the tea, as a spoon scuttled over and began to stir the cup.

The whole thing appeared to be done effortlessly; Harry, in his current happy mood, found it incredibly comic, and doubled up in laughter.

"Sorry, Mrs Weasley," he said, as Molly looked at him with concern, "it was just so beautiful and funny to watch breakfast come over! Your spells are amazing!"

Molly smiled at him indulgently. A little flattery never hurt. And she could see that the twins were rubbing off on Harry; she'd lived with them for twenty years, she was quite used to people finding the strangest things amusing.

* * *

They Flooed to the shop at half-past eight. Harry had wanted to apparate into Diagon Alley and come into the shop through the front door – he still wasn't a big fan of Floo travel, and he wanted to see what the experience would be like for everyone else – but when they got there, he was glad that they hadn't. The Alley seemed to be full of people already, some of them going about their business, but many just standing around, obviously waiting for the Grand Re-Opening. The shop, even with no-one in it, seemed full, as joke items were in piles everywhere; plastic bins were overflowing with Skiving Snackboxes, Joke boxes, Nose-Biting Teacups, spiders that were charmed to wriggle realistically, Peruvian Darkness Powder, and hundreds of other lines.

"You've been busy!" Harry exclaimed.

"They had help," said a voice from the back of the shop, and Neville came out, leading Seamus and Dean. Harry was overjoyed to see them again; it had only been two days, but that was at the Memorial Service and he hadn't got to say good-bye properly. Now his friends surrounded him with chatter and started showing off some of the tricks they'd helped the twins to make. Then Neville made his way over to George and gave him a big kiss, to whoops of joy and cat-calls from the others. Harry was stunned and delighted to see how readily his other two classmates accepted the relationship.

Operation _Happy Harry_ was going very well, Fred decided.

Harry was amazed that people were prepared to stand around for an hour and more just to enter a joke shop. Not _just_ a joke-shop, he told himself. It was, after all, the best joke-shop in the Wizarding world, and he was proud to have invested in it. But then the real symbolism of the day hit him. For these witches and wizards, visiting the shop was a statement that they wanted to leave behind the horrors of war and go back to the carefree life that they had had before Voldemort had risen so many years ago. Many of them, perhaps, would barely remember such a time; for them, it must be exciting to think that the Weasleys would at last bring carefree joy into their lives, unmixed with darkness.

An idea struck him. A wickedly good prankish idea. An idea worthy of the twins themselves. "Got any more of those cushions?" he asked Fred, in his most innocent voice, at which the twins both pricked up their ears – they knew full well that meant he was up to something! After all, they'd had years of knowing when each other were thinking evil pranking thoughts, spotting someone else doing it was child's play for these masters of mirth.

"Yeah, there's a whole bay of them over by the wall there. What are you thinking, Harry?" Fred replied.

"I think I can guess," George said, and Fred turned to him as the same knowing smile spread across both faces. "Harry, **that's** **brilliant**!" they said, together.

Ten minutes later, Neville and Dean walked out the front door, and placed a row of chairs in front of the shop. They went up to some of the more elderly – but not _too _elderly – witches and wizards, and offered them a seat. Of course, their unsuspecting victims were only too glad to accept such a kind and thoughtful gesture from these "nice young men". It wasn't long before their shouts – a little apprehensive, but mostly gleeful – rang out throughout the Alley as they bobbed six feet up in the air. George had spelled a sign to appear underneath them:

_Don't be down in the dumps!  
Get up with the bumps!  
In Weasley's Bouncing Balloon-Chairs!_

"Not my best, I'm afraid," George said, apologetically. But no-one believed him. After all, they weren't interested in brilliant poetry, their aim was to amuse. And, of course, to sell their products; but the cushions would probably do that perfectly well all by themselves.

After a minute or two they let the poor witches and wizards down, only to find a ready queue of volunteers wanting a turn of their own. Of course many of the younger witches and wizards now felt left out, coming and demanding a turn as well, so in very short order there was a huge crowd yelling and laughing right in front of the shop.

It was the sort of advertising you couldn't buy with a million galleons, Harry thought. How better to advertise a joke shop than with a huge crowd of people having fun? He wandered out with a few trick items to give away as freebies: a couple of Decoy Detonators went off soon afterwards, and the bangs just added to the noise and fun.

As he stood at the far edge of the crowd, surveying the mayhem, Floriana Fortescue came over and shoved a chocolate and raspberry sundae with chopped nuts in his hand. He was amazed that she remembered his favourite, and told her so; she looked at him like he was a Dementor.

"Harry, my father loved you best of all his customers! He made sure we all knew your favourite!" she exclaimed.

She had not come over just for him, he was glad to see: she had a whole tray of sundaes, and they were disappearing rapidly at two sickles each.

"Hey!" Harry shouted above the general din, "don't spend all your money on ice-creams!"

But it was plain to see there was no danger of that. People had come prepared, their pockets full of galleons, itching to part with them for the wonderful Weasley products.

Harry looked back at the shop and got his first glimpse at the huge sign advertising the re-opening. The doggerel was both appalling and endearing:

YOU-KNOW-WHO HAS GONE AWAY!

U-NO-POO IS HERE TO STAY!

COME AND HAVE SOME FUN TODAY!

Underneath was some text rather more to the point:

WEASLEYS' WIZARD WHEEZES

PURVEYERS OF PLEASURE TO THE PEOPLE!

MAKING MIRTH FOR THE MISERABLE!

WE'RE BACK, VOLDY, AND YOU'RE NOW MOULDY!

He grinned. They just couldn't resist the dig at Voldemort, stealing Peeves' line. But somehow the jocular humour fit the occasion, and the shop, perfectly. He wandered back through the heaving, boisterous, happy crowd, into the shop.

They weren't even open yet, and the Grand Re-Opening was already a roaring success.

* * *

The morning flew by. The doors opened at exactly ten o'clock, and by one minute past you could hardly move inside the shop. Naturally, Harry helped out, and found that his being there was a drawcard all by itself; people came up to him to shake his hand all morning, and he made sure everyone who did bought a little something extra. George came up to him about eleven with a cup of tea, and told him they reckoned he was personally responsible for about half the sales; he was sure this was an exaggeration, but it made him grin anyway.

By half-past twelve, Harry was getting worried: they appeared to have sold practically everything!

"What about the afternoon crowd?" he asked.

"Don't worry, Harry," a twin replied, "We've got a trick or six up our sleeves still. / Now, how about some lunch?"

They closed the shop for an hour and the six of them went to the Leaky Cauldron. The place was packed with very happy witches and wizards who all seemed to have some Weasley item they wanted to show off. The noise was incredible, and yet managed to double as they walked in and were spotted. Harry was glad to see that the twins were being hailed as celebrities today: he had had quite enough of being famous; it was wonderful to be able to take a step back and not be in the spotlight for once.

Everyone wanted to buy them drinks, so by the time they found somewhere to sit, each of the six had a tankard of butterbeer in each hand, and there was a tray full of more tankards placed on the table in front of them. It took a while to convince Tom the landlord that what they really needed was food, rather than drink. But when the message got through to him, great platters were passed around, and everyone ate their fill. After that, there were a couple more rounds of butterbeers, and Harry offered to pay. Tom wouldn't hear of it; "the drinks have been paid for twice over, Mr. Potter," he said, grinning happily, "and the food is on the house."

As they left the Cauldron, accompanied by a large crowd eager to visit their shop, Floriana Fortescue came up with a huge bucket of ice-cream for them. George offered to pay, but she wouldn't take his money.

"Thank you so much, boys!" she said, her face beaming, "I've been rushed off my feet all day with the crowd you drew! Heading for the best sales for a single day ever, which is stunning considering that it's not even hot!"

When they got back to the shop, and had eaten their ice-cream, George and Neville scuttled out the back, and for a brief moment Harry wondered if they were up to …. No, couldn't be. Surely?

They came back in shortly after, carrying a small, but evidently very heavy, box between them. They put it down slowly, and it bounced a little: it was obviously under a levitation charm, but so heavy that even that couldn't keep it in the air.

"You might want to stand back, Harry," Fred warned him, and they all did, standing at the far wall as George and Neville took the lid off the box.

Immediately, hundreds of items rushed out of the box and flew around the shop, settling happily into the right bins. By half-past one, the shop was nearly as full of stock as it had been when they had opened at ten, and the doors were re-opened.

* * *

At about half-past two Harry was fretting because he remembered his promise to Draco to visit, when there was a big commotion (that is, the prevailing din got appreciably louder) as the Weasley clan came in.

"Look, Fred, it's ickle Ronniekins!" George called out.

"And Hermio-ninny!" Fred replied.

"Stop it, you!" Hermione replied, slapping him lightly on the wrist; but there was no heat in it and he just grinned in reply.

Hermione had worked out long ago not to let the twins get to her, or she would spend her whole life being annoyed by them. She linked her arm through Ron's and they wandered around the shop, looking at everything. They weren't buying much; the twins always made Ron pay double, and he and Hermione didn't have many galleons. Harry would have paid for them, of course, but the twins would never accept his money; so he just watched to see what Ron really wanted, then set one of each item aside for him later. The twins could see perfectly well what was going on; but they weren't going to let on; their pride kept them silent: Ron paid double, Harry never paid, that was the rule, and they stuck to it. It was a strange arrangement, but they actually liked it, because they didn't have to break their rule about Ron, Harry got to do his friend a favour which made him happy, and his smile always melted the twins' hearts.

Molly was obviously astonished to see the shop looking so smart and complimented her boys on the décor. Harry thought he had never seen them turn so red. It was really cute that their mother could embarrass them so easily. No-one else ever had; not to his knowledge, anyway.

He didn't hear what Arthur had to say because Neville came over at this point and suggested he might like to go upstairs. _Like going upstairs? _He thought to himself, _I never have before … _But when he decided to stop being silly and did go up, he was overjoyed to find his friend Robin Banks, who had evidently Flooed into the shop. He greeted Robin with a huge hug; he decided they were getting a bit beyond shaking hands, despite only having known him for not quite a week. Robin was one of those people, like Tonks, who you met for five minutes and felt you'd known forever.

"It's lovely that you're happy to see me, Harry," the Auror said, "but there's someone else here I think you'll be even happier to see."

And there, coming out of the Floo, looking more than a little apprehensive, was Draco Malfoy.

* * *

Harry didn't so much give Draco a hug as wrap him up in one. Draco looked as if he was afraid that it was all just a dream and would burst at any moment; or, more likely, worried that he would be scolded and hounded back to the manor, as Auror Crockford certainly would have done had he been there. But he soon plucked up courage and returned the embrace in kind.

"Harry," he said, "it's stupid, I know, I only saw you yesterday, but I've missed you so much; Father has been impossible today, I think it's because he's realised the Debt has set in; and Auror Banks was on duty and …"

"You gave him permission to come?" Harry completed, making it a question to Robin.

"And brought him," said the Auror, with a smile. "He is allowed to travel with escort. We mustn't be away long, but I saw no reason why he couldn't share in the fun. We're not all heartless bastards, Draco," he replied to the blond, who was still looking a bit frightened.

"So you're not worried he's a danger to the public?" Harry said, with a strong hint of irony in his voice.

"Oh yes, I'm sure," came the reply, as Robin obviously got the irony and replied in kind. "Wizards who aren't allowed their wands and are being escorted by trained Aurors are **such** a menace to the public!"

His face had a warm, uncomplicated smile on it, and Draco, seeing it, seemed to trust his luck and relaxed a bit more into Harry's arms.

"I think you two might be more comfortable on the settee, don't you think?" Banks asked them, ushering them into the small lounge-room as he closed and locked the Floo. "I think I can trust you with Harry, Mr. Malfoy, so I'll just be in here if you need me," with which he went back into the Floo reception room and closed the door behind him.

Harry and Draco now had some privacy, which they put to good use. Their kiss was every bit as passionate as the one they'd had the previous afternoon, and Draco finally relaxed completely. Harry felt the tension leave his – what was Draco now? Friend? Lover? He didn't know. They'd have to talk that one through. Later.

Almost as if he'd read Harry's mind, Draco chose this moment to ask, "so, you've got over your scruples from yesterday, then?"

"I'm not sure," Harry admitted. "But I said we'll work it out together…" He thought a bit more. "I'm sorry about your father, Draco, but I just couldn't say those words. Something told me it was wrong to just say them without understanding them. I just hope – does this mean –"

"It means, Harry, we get to work things out together. That's all. Forget about the debt; just tell me, honestly, how do you feel right now?"

"I guess, right now, I'm just really, really happy to have you here and to hold you in my arms. And kissing is good, too. Better than good," he added, in response to a mock-glare from Draco.

"I can live with that," Draco said, holding Harry tighter and kissing his nose.

There was a discreet tap on the door, and Harry made an encouraging "come in" sort of noise, which was a little incoherent as he had just buried his face in Draco's hair. Auror Banks came in. "Sorry to disturb you two, but I will have to get Draco back to the Manor soon, and I thought he might like to see the fun downstairs."

Draco looked mildly horrified. "But there's lots of people! Isn't there a danger of being cursed?" he asked.

Robin waved his wand in a complex pattern, and suddenly there next to Harry was not Draco Malfoy, but Dennis Creavey. "Being a dab hand at casting glamours is quite an asset for an Auror," said Robin, affecting modesty but failing completely to achieve it.

Harry was astonished. "It's a perfect replica of Dennis! How do you get it so exact?"

"He is my cousin, remember?" Robin replied softly, "I've known him all his life; that certainly helps with glamours. But I really am pretty skillful; I got an O in charms at Durstrang on the strength of it."

As he spoke, Harry noticed a mirror on the wall behind Draco, and turned him so he could see the effect. Draco smiled, showing off Dennis's rather crooked teeth.

"That is pretty amazing," he agreed.

Robin smiled and escorted them downstairs, and stood at the back, keeping one very watchful eye on Draco and the other roaming for any possible threat. It was obvious to Harry that he didn't see Draco as a threat in any way; there had been no talk about Cuffing or any such nonsense, and Harry loved him even more for that.

But everyone in the shop was busy looking and buying, and while people came up to Harry to shake his hand, no-one gave Draco a second look as they wandered around, Draco's eyes wide open as he gazed in astonishment at all the merchandise.

"It's incredible," he whispered to Harry. "When they were at Hogwarts, I just thought those two were a pair of no-hoper troublemakers; but the skill that's gone into thinking up these things and making them is astonishing. In their own way, they're geniuses."

Harry chuckled. He was delighted to think that Draco was changing his mind about the people he would before have simply dismissed as 'blood-traitors', unworthy of his contempt; he was actually coming to admire them.

"Remember the swamp?" he asked. "Flitwick called that a lovely piece of magic."

"Oh yes," Draco said, the memory coming back in a rush. "Professor Umbridge HATED it! It showed up just how bad she is at charms and counter-charms."

Harry was a bit perturbed – he didn't really want to think about Umbridge, not today. Today was a day for fun; Umbridge was everything but. Fortunately, they were interrupted, and that train of thought derailed.

"Hello Harry, wondered where you'd got to," Ron said as he came up to them. "Oh, hello Dennis –" and then Ron took a closer look, realized who he was talking to, and lowered his voice: "Malfoy? Do the Aurors know you're here?"

Draco looked alarmed, and Harry murmured, "Ron is very sharp about glamours, don't worry, no-one else has noticed." Draco then indicated to Ron with a nod towards the back of the shop, and Ron looked over and saw Robin Banks standing there, all official and alert. He gave Ron a quick grin, but then his face went back to an impassive mask, surveying everything.

"Don't let Ginny know he's here," Harry whispered to Ron. "He's on duty, and he's being wonderfully kind – he brought Draco over, set up the glamour and let us both come down here and mingle."

At that point, Robin signalled to him, and Harry realized their time was up. It really hadn't been long, but he was very grateful that they had come at all. He grabbed Draco's arm, and indicated with his head that they had to go back up. Draco grasped the meaning immediately, and, without seeming to rush or doing anything suspicious, they were at the back of the shop very quickly.

"Sorry boys, time to go," they were told, and the three of them went upstairs.

When they reached the Floo point, Robin ushered them back into the lounge-room, and said, with a wink, "We don't have to rush straight away; you can have a minute to say goodbye."

And Auror Banks didn't seem to mind that they took rather more than a minute; and in fact they didn't do all that much talking.

As they came out again, Draco asked, diffidently, "Will you come by tomorrow? Say, ten o'clock?"

Harry grinned widely. Draco had sounded casual and off-hand, but he knew that he was anything but. Being together was becoming important to both of them. Draco wanted him. All by himself. And, he knew, all for himself, in both senses: he didn't want to share Harry, and also he didn't want Harry the Boy who Lived or Harry the Slayer of Voldemort, he wanted Just Harry. The real him. The thought made his heart sing for joy.

"It's a date," he said.

Draco blushed red at these simple words, and the implications behind them, but said nothing. Robin looked all innocent before turning away to open the Floo, then gently leading Draco back to the Manor.

Harry sighed. It was silly, he knew; he'd just seen Draco, but he really was 'missing you already' as the Muggles said.

He didn't care if he looked silly; hell, he didn't care that he was being silly.

He was going to see Draco tomorrow. It put a huge grin on his face.

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **_Deliberately a bit lighter than the rather angsty ch10 and ch11! Please review and let me know your thoughts._

_As ever, big thanks to Bicky Monster for being my beta, and welcome to all who follow / have favorited! Love you all!  
_


	13. Return to Grimmauld Place

**13. Return to Grimmauld Place**

_Sunday, May 10 1998_

Harry was so excited at the thought of seeing Draco again that he apparated to the Manor half an hour early. There was no-one about in Narcissa's study, and he took the chance to have a proper look round. The furnishings were, of course, exquisite; the desk was a beautiful French antique, not that Harry could have placed it, but it was obviously quite special. His eye fell on the chaise-longue under the window and with a gasp he recognised it: it was the one that Draco had transfigured the previous Saturday, just over a week ago, though it felt more like months ago. He hadn't given it another thought since the twins had asked about it on Saturday; he'd have to remember to tell them that he hadn't managed to keep it, now he knew where it was.

He stepped out of the study and learnt for the first time how soundproof the room was. The din was incredible; the normally sedate Manor was in turmoil. There were Aurors and lawyers everywhere, removing boxes of papers and books and artifacts, and all was bustle and noise. It suddenly hit him: the Wizarding trials! These people must be removing evidence for the Wizengamot to examine before the Malfoys were tried. He'd known that this was scheduled to happen after the funerals, but he hadn't realized that there would be so little time between them.

"Draco?" he yelled, wandering the corridors, but there was no response; no-one seemed to take any notice of him, they were all evidently fixated on what they were doing. By the rushing, they needed to be done soon. He decided that the Malfoys couldn't possibly be here, anyway; no-one would dare carry on the way these people were in Lucius Malfoy's house if he was anywhere about.

Amid the din, a familiar voice called his name. He looked round and saw Kingsley striding towards him.

"I'm sorry, Harry," he said, "but the Wizengamot has decided that the Wizarding trials will begin on Tuesday with the Malfoys' trials, and they have been placed in detention at the Ministry until then. I tried to get them to agree to leave the Malfoys under house-arrest at the Manor, but they wouldn't hear of it. I'm sorry, but you won't be able to get in touch before the trial."

Harry had a sickening feeling in his stomach, worse than being hit by a bludger: he wasn't going to see Draco before the trials, and if they went badly, he realized, he may not get to see him afterwards, either. The feeling must have made itself visible on his face, because Kingsley looked very concerned and called over an Auror, Glinda Dalben-Chun, and asked her to escort Harry back to the Burrow. Harry had never seen her before, and he took some small comfort from that; she hadn't been one of those totally useless Aurors who had stood by at the Memorial, he was sure of it. She took him to the closest Floo point, which happened to be the one in Lucius's study. He hadn't been in the room before, so he took a moment to look around. Even with over half its contents removed, it was the most impressive and imposing private room he had ever been in. It helped him begin to understand Lucius Malfoy a little better: to have gone through adult life with this enormous, ornate room as your very own personal study must have had a profound effect on the man.

But the moment was lost as lawyers came in and levitated filing cabinets out even as they stood there, and it went back to just being a room. A room with a Floo point, which Auror Dalben-Chun and he now used.

When they reached the Burrow, Glinda checked with Robin Banks that he would be alright to take over "looking after Mr Potter", which made Harry feel like a delinquent child; and then she returned to the Manor.

Molly Weasley rushed up to Harry, completely ignoring the Auror, and sat him down at once. "Harry, you look awful, dear," she said, in a consoling voice. Not that it helped; people who feel awful don't generally enjoy being told they look it. But Harry accepted the love behind the words; and also the steaming, sweet cup of tea that appeared moments later.

He sat and sighed. He hadn't realised how much he wanted to see Draco, how enticing the vision of a day spent in his company had been, until now that it had been ripped away from him. He stifled his tears.

* * *

He had not seen Draco. He wasn't going to any time soon. It hurt more than anything. He kept it inside for the rest of the day. That was what he did now, push his feelings down. Part of him didn't want to; wanted to yell or cry or have hysterics or stamp his feet in rage or _anything_…. But he couldn't.

By the middle of the afternoon, he felt he had to do **something**. He was standing in the front room all by himself. He could hear Hermione and Molly chatting in the kitchen; the others must be outside. He suddenly, guiltily, remembered someone whom he had completely forgotten about since the Battle of Hogwarts.

"Kreacher!" he called softly. He didn't want Hermione to hear, he didn't need another rant about the Evils of House-Elf Slavery from the founder of the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare. Kreacher, he knew, was perfectly happy in the Black house at Grimmauld Place; but Hermione wasn't entirely convinced and Harry didn't have the patience to try to explain again right now.

There was a pop, and the elderly house-elf apparated in front of him. "Master Harry be wanting Kreacher? Kreacher is being very happy to serve Master Harry!"

"How is Grimmauld Place since the War, Kreacher? Could I stay there now?"

"Oh, yes, Master Harry!" Kreacher beamed. "Kreacher is being cleaning all over ready for the Master!"

Harry smiled. How could anyone (by which he meant Hermione) say that house-elves were slaves when they were so grateful to be asked to serve? But then Kreacher looked at his feet and wouldn't meet Harry's eyes.

"Kreacher, what's wrong?"

"Kreacher is very sorry, Master Harry, but Kreacher cannot remove the spells of the Mad-Eye. And heavy repair spells are being beyond him." Then he brightened again. "But the house is being sparkling clean!"

Harry grinned. "I'm sure it is, Kreacher. If I come and stay tonight, do you think you could cook me some supper?"

Kreacher's eyes grew so round with delight that Harry couldn't help but chuckle. "Oh yes, Master Harry! Kreacher is knowing the very thing!"

And with that the elf vanished in a pop.

Hermione came into the room, followed by Molly. "Harry, was that Kreacher I just heard?"

"Yes. I'm going to spend the night at Grimmauld Place."

They both eyed him critically, but said nothing. It was awkward, so rather than endure the silence he continued, "Molly, I'm sorry, I love being here but I just need a bit of space, all right?"

Molly looked at him severely. "All right, Harry," she said eventually. "But don't you go hiding away in that draughty place, all by yourself, for weeks on end, do you hear? I want you here every night but I can tell that won't happen. So I expect to see you here at least once a week for dinner, every week, do you hear? I make a point of having all my children here as often as possible. I hope I don't need to tell you again that that includes both of you," she said, gesturing to Hermione and him. Then she shook her head. "I really don't like to think of you rattling around in that cold, old place all alone."

"Thanks, Molly," he replied, "I won't be alone, I'll have Kreacher."

"You won't be alone because Ron and I will be there with you," Hermione responded, in a voice that made it clear that there was no room for argument.

* * *

Kreacher was absolutely delighted to have people to serve and cook for. Before dinner, there was a huge flurry of activity in one of the second-floor bedrooms, and Hermione gaped in amazement at the four-poster bed with beautiful white linen sheets and gold covers.

"Mister Weasley and Miss Granger be being very comfortable!" he chuckled. Hermione couldn't decide if he was having a sly dig at their unmarried status or not, but then remembered her own mantra: _"Kindness and Understanding"_, so elected to give him the benefit of the doubt and simply thanked him. He seemed very pleased at this.

Harry was surprised when Hermione came up to him after this and proposed a truce. "I still don't like house-elves," she said, "but I can see that he's very happy here, and you're treating him with kindness, so we'll just leave it at that, all right?"

Harry beamed. "Agreed," he replied. And that was that.

The Ministry had insisted that a pair of Aurors go with them to stand on duty, even though Grimmauld Place was unplottable. After all, Yaxley had been there; who knew if he might be able to divulge the location, now that Dumbledore was dead and the Fidelius Charm probably unreliable? Or he might escape and threaten Harry himself.

Harry insisted that they weren't going to sit down and eat with two hungry men standing outside in the chilly night air. So in the end, five people sat down to supper. Kreacher produced a magnificent, and enormous, shepherd's pie; the five of them, even with Ron's huge appetite, couldn't manage to get outside more than half of it. And this was followed by a spotted dick smothered in custard, which made Ron's eyes go so round and huge that it reminded Harry of Kreacher's response when he had asked him to cook earlier that afternoon.

"Ron, your face –" he said, but it was all he could get out before collapsing into laughter. The thought that Ron and Kreacher had used the same expression was so unlikely and comic. The others were so mellowed by good food that they joined in, and the mood lightened perceptibly.

* * *

Ron and Hermione stopped him on the second-floor landing just before he went up to his bedroom.

"You all right mate?" Ron asked.

He'd known this was coming, but he still wasn't ready to talk yet. The thought that the next time he saw Draco he would be in the dock, and that it could be the last time, still weighed heavily upon him.

"Yeah," he said, as crap as ever at telling anyone, even his best friends, about his feelings.

"Liar!" Ron said, but with great affection.

And then Harry found himself surrounded by strong arms again. They weren't the ones he really needed; but the hugs of his friends, the feeling of being surrounded by two people who cared about him, was comforting, and he broke down, just a little. It wasn't yelling or crying or being hysterical, it was a sniffle and a muttered, "sorry", but it helped.

"You know you can talk to us about anything, right? We're here for you, OK?" Ron continued.

"Yeah. Sorry, but right now, I just can't."

"OK. But don't keep it in too long, OK? Or I'll get Hermione onto you." Ron threatened; but he rather blunted the threat with a chuckle.

This made Harry laugh, especially as she was standing right next to him. "Thanks, mate. Thanks, Hermione. Goodnight."

Harry didn't dream that night; but still wasn't properly rested when he woke up the next morning.

* * *

In the Ministry holding cells, Draco Malfoy wasn't getting a lot of sleep.

He was sharing a cell with his parents; he wasn't sure whether to think this was better than being with strangers, or mortifying to be confined so close to them. He'd spent the whole day being strong; Lucius had explained that with him being away from Harry, the bond should weaken, so he should be able to get free of it. They had both clearly assumed that this was the best thing, so he had fallen in with the idea.

But Narcissa and Lucius were now sleeping, and he had the chance to think about what he wanted. And that, he decided, was actually very simple. The bond be damned. He wanted Harry. He'd always wanted Harry. To be his friend, his lover, his …; he didn't know a word for what they were now, he just knew he wanted it back. Hades, he'd take whatever he could get!

He remembered the feeling as their home had been invaded by Aurors at nine o'clock that morning. He'd been up early, ready for Harry's visit; and then the whole thing had been blown to Hell and they'd been carted off without even the chance to get a note to Harry to tell him what was going on. The bastards wouldn't even let him leave a note with them. He'd had to be strong and calm all day; he wasn't going to give the Aurors at the Ministry the satisfaction of knowing they had made him angry. But now he was by himself, he could be himself, he could let his true feelings out.

Two large tears rolled down his cheeks and onto the pillow.

* * *

Draco wasn't the only prisoner not getting much sleep.

_She's here_, he thought. _She's so close; but they've put that fool Proudfoot over her, I can't get to him. If it was Crockford … _But it wasn't; no sense wasting time on maybes. He was annoyed that having the Malfoys so close physically did not make it easier to get to them; the irony that it was actually much harder did not escape him.

_Escape_. Yes, that was a good word. He could see that the Ministry had no stomach for this job; they would probably let them off with a caution, or perhaps five years in Azkaban. Less than they deserved; they all deserved to be Kissed, he thought, and that treacherous Narcissa, who had lied to his Lord, telling him that the brat Potter was dead when he was only foxing. The brat, he reminded himself, who had got them away from Crockford

He had lost everything; they would get off lightly. Well, let them. He would be waiting. He had his spies, his helpers, and here was Crockford and the other, Barnes, they would spring him now, he'd make them, and then let's see how the precious Malfoys like that!

_Treacherous scum! _He spat into the straw at his feet as the door was unlocked. Not long now, and he would have to find alternative lodgings. The thought brought a hideous grin to his face.

* * *

_Monday, May 11 1998_

Like so many things in Grimmauld Place, the bedroom curtains needed replacing, but they still kept the light out well enough that no-one woke before ten o'clock. Ron got up first, largely because Pigwidgeon the owl was knocking on his window. Hermione had heard the knock, Ron was sure, but rolled over and completely ignored it.

Ron left his bed, with more grumble than grace, and took the letter and copy of the Daily Prophet that the owl had brought.

The letter was from Molly, warning them that Harry would be very upset by the article in the Prophet, suggesting that they should show it to him before anyone else could so that they could be there for him, and asking them to take good care of him when they did.

With fear and trepidation, Hermione opened the paper. Half the front page was taken up with a photograph of the three Malfoys, Lucius scowling, Draco looking shifty and Narcissa looking very uncomfortable in their presence. They were being led away by two Aurors. Hermione recognised Crockford, having had the displeasure of meeting him when she and Ron had visited the Manor the previous Wednesday; the other, the caption stated, was Auror Tombinias Barnes. In huge letters above the photograph ran the headline:

**DEATH EATER TRIALS!**

_The Prophet can exclusively reveal that Malfoy Manor was visited yesterday by the crack Wizengamot Forensics team, accompanied by a number of Aurors. We have been told that a vast amount of incriminating evidence was removed from the Manor and is now safely under spell, lock and key in the Ministry. The Malfoys will be facing trial this week, and surely our readers can be in no doubt of the fate awaiting Lucius Malfoy, the Doyen of Death Eaters, and his son and heir, Draco Malfoy. Surely the only questions we need ask are,_

'_How long will they spend in Azkaban?'_

_and,_

'_Will they be Kissed by a Dementor?'_

Hermione cast _Revelio_ on the photograph. "As I suspected," she said, "this photograph has been touched up."

Ron looked closer and he could see that it was a very clever job – the original expressions on the Malfoys' faces had been altered only very slightly, but they looked quite different. Whoever had done this was an expert in deception.

"The bastards!" he yelled.

"Who are bastards?" said Harry, knocking on the door and entering as Hermione told him to come in.

"Harry," Hermione said, concern etched on her face, "you need to sit down for this. Let's go to the kitchen and get a cup of tea."

* * *

Kreacher had not allowed them to get away with just a cup of tea: the three of them had feasted on bacon, sausages and eggs, and Harry was finishing off some toast and marmalade when Ron brought out the morning's _Prophet._

"I'm sorry, mate," he said, handing the paper to Harry, "it isn't pretty."

Harry took one look at the photograph and his face went black. His hands trembled with rage, and Hermione raced behind him to hold him, to somehow let him know that they were there, they loved him, they understood what it did to him that the _Daily Prophet_ could casually condemn these two people he had given back magic to.

"Remember, Harry, we're here for you," she said. "We understand how hurtful it is that these horrible reporters can be so callous about someone who means so much to you."

Harry stood up and turned to look at her with worried eyes, and she knew his thought even before he said it: "what if Draco gets kissed?"

As he said it, as the thought took hold, the thing he had been holding off for twenty-four hours finally happened. The brave Harry Potter, the Boy who Lived, the Destroyer of Voldemort, dissolved into tears.

* * *

They were still standing at the kitchen table in their pyjamas half an hour later when Kingsley Shacklebolt came in.

"I'm sorry to intrude," he began; then took in the scene.

Harry was still sobbing, quietly now, on Hermione's shoulder as she stroked his hair. Ron had stood up, too, and clasped the two of them in a huge hug, nuzzling Harry's head with his own. At the sound of Kingsley's voice, Harry looked up.

"I'm sorry Minister – Kingsley," he amended, as Kingsley waved at him deprecatingly.

"You have no reason to be sorry, Harry," he said, with a sad smile. "I'm sorry that the _Prophet_ ran the story like that; if it's any comfort I can tell you that they made up the 'vast amount of incriminating evidence'; the lawyers do have a lot of material, more than they can handle properly, but I'm told that preliminary investigation has shown almost all of it to be irrelevant."

"Thank you," said Harry; "but it isn't much comfort."

"That's all right, Harry," said the Minister, looking at him kindly. "How about we move to the sitting room and discuss this further. Are you up for that?"

Harry was. He'd finished crying for the moment, he decided; now he had to be strong. The four of them walked to the sitting room together, and Harry sat between his earliest friends. Kingsley's tone had been friendly and kind; perhaps he had come to give them hope?

Whatever happened, Harry wasn't going to give up on his friend. _My almost-lover_, he decided. That's what they were. More than friends; less than lovers, but nearly there. _If we ever get the chance_, he thought, which very nearly set him off again.

Kingsley, seated opposite in the leather armchair that Sirius had always used – _No! _Harry told himself, _I will not let that affect me now!_ – leaned over with a kind light in his eyes.

"I can't promise anything, Harry, but the Wizengamot is aware of everything that happened during the funerals, and they are taking what you said about a second chance for Draco Malfoy very seriously."

"Will I be able to speak for them?" Harry asked, tentatively.

Kingsley frowned a little. "For Draco and Narcissa, of course. Do you really want to speak for Lucius? Does he really deserve that?"

"Oh yes!" Harry said, all tentativeness gone, replaced by a fervent passion that made his eyes burn as green as the Avada Kedavra curse. "He may have been a bastard before, and made our lives Hell; but we don't get to choose who lives, Kingsley. Lucius has been spared, and maybe there are people we would prefer here instead, but we don't get that choice. We have to work with what we have. We need him, Kingsley. We need him to bring the pure-bloods to the table. He can influence them like no-one else, get them to see that the only way forward, the only future for all of us is to work together. Otherwise, how long will it be before another Tom Riddle turns up and exploits the divisions between us? Only things would be even worse because we would trust one another even less than we do now, and we would end up wishing for the days of Lord Voldemort rather than what we have then?"

Kingsley was very impressed. The future that Harry had outlined at the Lupins' funeral, one where Teddy could 'live a happier life', was what he had been arguing for all week. He had been quietly sounding people out, putting a word here and a nudge there, and felt he might just be making some headway. But his politicking needed a focus. Harry was no politician, that was obvious; he would never survive the machinations of diplomacy; but his straight-forward honesty might just be the weapon they needed to sway the Wizengamot.

"All right," he said, smiling. "I'll make sure that you get the chance. You're a very persuasive orator, Harry; I don't think anyone else could, or would, speak up for Lucius Malfoy, but you might just get him off being Kissed."

Harry smiled in reply, but he couldn't stop himself from asking, "What hope for Draco?"

"I'm sure he won't be Kissed, Harry, if that's your concern."

Harry relaxed visibly. "And Azkaban?"

"Not so certain, but I think we'll keep him out. Like I said, your words are being taken seriously. That's why I think, if you can be as passionate as you just were, at the trials, they will listen to you."

There was a knock at the window, and a Ministry owl came in as Harry opened it. Kingsley removed a letter from it, deftly avoiding the owl's attempt to bite him.

"Ah! A minister's work is never done, I'm afraid," he said, as he read it. "This is from Arthur; I do need to deal with something before the trial. Keep your pecker up, Harry. The Wizengamot will start deliberations at nine o'clock; they will probaby want to interview you at length before the trials actually begin. Come to the ministry at eight thirty and we'll make sure it's all arranged."

Harry flinched a little. He remembered the last trial he'd been involved in scheduled for nine a.m. – his own disciplinary hearing, which had been secretly moved to eight a.m. and the courtroom changed at the last minute by then-minister Cornelius Fudge to try to get him to miss it altogether.

Kingsley noticed the reaction, and laughed. "No, Harry, you have my personal promise that the trials themselves will begin in Courtroom Ten at nine a.m. at the very earliest."

Harry stood up. "Thank you, Minister," he said, with a very formal bow. Kingsley grinned, and held out his hand, which Harry took in a firm shake.

"May I use your Floo?" he asked the younger wizard.

"Please, be my guest," Harry replied, with a twinkle in his eye – after all, Kingsley had arrived unannounced and uninvited, so technically he had been trespassing the whole time. The strange thought that he was asking permission to leave, not be there, tickled Harry's sense of humour.

Kingsley was very glad to see it – the old Harry Potter was still there, underneath this sorrowful, serious boy. All they had to do now was get Draco free and he should be well on the way to recovery. _All they had to do_, he thought to himself. _As though it were a little thing …_

* * *

That evening, Ginny and the twins came over, with Neville and Robin in tow. They all hugged Harry very tightly, and told him again that the whole family was there for him.

"Mum's really worried about you, Harry," Ginny told him. "She thought you'd probably want to go and pull the reporter's head off their body or something after that horrid article this morning."

Harry chuckled. It did help to have these lovely people come to comfort him, even if he couldn't have the person he really wanted. "A thought like that had crossed my mind," he admitted, "and I got a bit teary this morning; but you can tell Molly I'm OK now, just can't wait for tomorrow to be over." He pointed to Ron and Hermione as he continued, "these two have been wonderful, and Kingsley came by to reassure me that not everyone is spiteful and hateful."

Ginny's eyes went wide. She still wasn't used to the fact that Harry called the Minister of Magic "Kingsley" instead of "sir"; the thought that someone so important had come by to reassure Harry just reminded her again of how important he really was to the wizarding world. It was such an amazing thought that this lovely, sweet, shy seventeen-year-old man who she had grown up with, who had been like an annoying big brother, then a heavenly boyfriend, and now a really close friend and brother, was also the wizard who had destroyed the Dark Lord who had terrorized them for all of her life. Terrorized her, particularly, in the Chamber of Secrets where his diary Horcrux had tried to kill her. And would have succeeded but for the wonderful man in front of her.

She cuddled him tightly, and began to cry.

"Hush, Gin, what's wrong?" he asked, so soft and loving it broke her heart even more.

"Oh Harry," she replied, "you are just the most wonderful, amazing man, I can't bear it that these people are so stupid and hurt you so much."

Harry had a moment of panic – she didn't know about the Dursleys, surely? But then, realising that she was talking about the reporters, he relaxed.

"'S OK, Gin, the _Prophet_ has printed so much shit about me over the years, I can hardly complain when they publish shit about Draco, can I?"

"That's the spirit, little brother!" the twins said, coming around the two of them in a four-person hug which broke up almost immediately – Harry jumped nearly a foot in the air, howling with laughter under the onslaught of both Fred and George tickling him mercilessly.

"That's more like it, don't you think, Fred?" said one twin.

"Exactly so, George," the other replied.

"STOP IT!" Harry yelled, nearly breathless. "And don't think I don't know what you're playing at, using the wrong names like that!" Harry was pretty sure that the twins only ever called each other by name to use the wrong one and confuse people, like they were doing now. He never had any trouble telling them apart now he was used to them.

"All right, Harry," they said, pulling him into a hug with their arms over his shoulders, one of them on each side. "We came home to tell you all about our record sales last night / and mum wouldn't tell us where you were! And then of course we were at the shop today / without you, worse luck / and we had to PINCH and PINCH and PINCH her to tell us where you were!"

Harry giggled as the twins suited action to words, each PINCH being taken out on him. They were careful not to hurt him, it was all play and it was doing a wonderful job of cheering him up. In the back of his mind, he knew perfectly well that that was what they were up to, but he pushed the thought away. He could get depressed again tomorrow, but not now. Not with the twins around; they just wouldn't let him get away with it, he was sure.

"Liars!" Ginny laughed. "She practically pushed the pair of you into the Floo to come and see him the second you got home!"

At this point, with a pop, Kreacher apparated into the room to announce that dinner was ready. Once again Harry insisted on feeding the Aurors, and Kreacher was so delighted to be serving ten people tonight that his voice became a high-pitched squeak of joy, which made Hermione laugh and clap for joy herself and soon they were all laughing and heading for the dining room.

* * *

Dinner was a very happy affair indeed. By mutual, unspoken consent, discussion of the trials and the _Prophet_ article was off limits; but Fred and George regaled them with stories from the shop for the last two days – one lady had been foolish enough to try to steal from them, and found out the hard way about the jinxes that the two had set up to stop this. George assured them that the Beefy Bouncy Beating Batons didn't really hurt that much, though Fred seemed to think she'd remember them every time she sat down for a week.

The twins had stolen (their word was "liberated" but Harry suspected that they said this more for the Aurors) a bottle of elf-wine from their father, and Harry discovered he really liked it. He found that strange: he didn't like wine or fire-whiskey much, having not grown up drinking alcohol (or much else, other than water, as often as not from the garden hose, for that matter). The twins assured him that it was because elf-wine didn't work the same way as normal alcohol, and was much better for cheering you up.

Whether this was true or not, Harry did find the evening very heartening. He was seated between the twins, and Fred took care to keep him in the conversation the whole time, even when George was chatting with Neville on his left. Robin, on Neville's other side, also kept the banter going, and Harry was delighted to see how easily he and Neville fitted in with the family. Perhaps it was the wine, or the twins' presence, or the banter, but somehow Harry's mood had changed so much that instead of feeling down at missing Draco, he was feeling hope that soon he too would be sitting at a meal just like this, laughing and joking as well.

* * *

_**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **As always, grateful thanks to my beta, Bicky Monster, for keeping me on my toes! Your help is invaluable.  
_

_Thanks and welcome to all who now follow the story - please do leave a review to let me know what you think!_


	14. Return to Courtroom Ten

**14. Return to Courtroom Ten**

_Tuesday, May 12 1998_

Harry Flooed to the Burrow just before six and was surprised and delighted to find that Arthur and Molly were up and busy in the kitchen already. Molly enveloped him in an enormous hug, then all but forced him to sit down and eat an enormous breakfast.

"I thought you might come over, dear, the twins told us you had a good night last night," she said, as he ate.

Harry was wondering about that. He had woken up in his pyjamas in his bed, but had no idea what had happened from about the middle of dinner the previous night onwards. The elf-wine had obviously been rather more potent than he thought. When he woke up, around five o'clock, he found on his desk a potion, labelled 'Weasley's All-Purpose Pepper-Up Potion', with a note under it in George's rather messy writing exhorting him to 'Get this down you straight-away / And your arse to the Burrow without delay!' Great poetry it was not, but he obeyed anyway. The potion had actually tasted quite sweet, making it about the first medicinal potion Harry remembered taking that didn't taste positively vile; once down, it had quite a kick to it and he'd come wide-awake with a bang, and got dressed for the day, then followed the second instruction.

Emerging from his reverie, he thanked Molly profusely and turned to Arthur.

"I thought I'd go with you to the Ministry, if I may."

Arthur chuckled. "I rather thought that might be why you were about so early in the morning. I believe, though, that you'll find that things really won't start until nine o'clock; there's no need to be three hours early like Albus was to your trial."

Harry grinned at him. It was nice, somehow, that Arthur had anticipated exactly how he felt, and why. "I'm sure there isn't," he replied, "but I just had to."

"Of course," Arthur replied, smiling at him, a father's love shining in his eyes. It made Harry's heart flip to know that he really was seen as part of this amazing family. "And you will want to prepare: the Chief Warlock has decided he wants to change the way things are done, and the whole Wizengamot will be sitting with you and deciding on new procedures."

Harry's eyes went wide in shock at the responsibility that it seemed was being thrust upon him, unasked and unlooked for. Before he could say anything, Arthur, noticing Harry had now finished breakfast, continued, "Coming?"

Harry followed him to the Floo, emerging, blinking, in Arthur's rather bright office.

* * *

Arthur's office was **huge**! You could have fitted the Weasley's kitchen and front room into it without trying, Harry thought; although perhaps it just looked like it because a fair amount of the room was still empty. Arthur had a very cluttered desk up at one end, with some tables and chairs scattered around to try to fill the rest of the place.

"Still haven't grown into this office, really," Arthur said, sadly. Harry looked at him, unbelieving: Arthur made a fantastic Deputy Minister, he was sure of it. But then he realized that Arthur had only meant the physical office: Arthur, so used to having no room at all to spare, must have unconsciously squashed everything into the smallest space possible.

Harry couldn't help thinking back to the cupboard under the stairs at Privet Drive. "I know the feeling," he said, remembering how bare his bed had looked in his first year at Hogwarts. Though that was more because he had had so little to put around it for months after he arrived. He had been very embarrassed that everyone else had posters of their favourite Quiddich players up and all sorts of other things scattered around: Neville had even had plants in pots all over his bed-head. It struck him suddenly that the first thing he had put up had been a photo of Galvin Gudgeon, the Seeker of the Chudley Cannons, which had been a gift from Ron; perhaps, he thought belatedly, Ron had actually always been a bit more sensitive than anyone had given him credit for.

Coming back to the present, he offered to help Mr. Weasley rearrange his office.

* * *

At half-past seven, Kingsley walked in.

"My goodness, Arthur," he said, looking around at the office, which was now much more spread out and organized, "this looks much more like you actually belong here! See, you do need all this space!"

Arthur grinned. "I had quite a bit of help from our friend Mr. Potter," he replied, smiling at Harry. "He turned up at the Burrow before six!"

Kingsley frowned at him. "Why so early? That's a full three hours before business starts – hang on," he finished up, having twigged; as a member of the Order he had of course heard all about Harry's hearing, and how Dumbledore had foiled the Ministry's crude attempts to keep them both out of the proceedings.

"Yeah, I kind of felt I had to do the same for him, somehow." Harry admitted. He was mostly speaking to himself, so didn't make it explicit that he meant Draco; but the Minister was no fool.

Kingsley looked at him, his eyes very pensive. "Do you love him that much?" he asked, softly.

Harry stopped to think for a second, then said, just as softly, "You know, I think perhaps I do…"

* * *

Kingsley's office was the same size as Arthur's; Harry had a sneaking suspicion that this was due to Kingsley's insistence, a feeling that was entirely confirmed when Arthur asked, "are you really sure you have enough space? I can always bunch things up again."

"Nonsense!" Kingsley said crisply, making it quite clear that the discussion was over. The three of them sat to discuss tactics.

"The first thing I have to tell you, Harry, is a piece of rather bad news," the Minister began. "Yaxley escaped during the early hours of yesterday morning."

"Is that what the owl you received at Grimmauld Place was about?" Harry asked, anxiously. This was disturbing news: Yaxley was not a wizard to be trifled with.

"Yes. The biggest concern at the moment is that we think he had inside help." Arthur replied.

"It's a very good thing you had your suspicions about Crockford," Kingsley added. "He and his partner Auror Barnes were in charge of Yaxley's cell the night before last. We are not yet certain that they were complicit …" He left the suggestion hanging in the air.

"As they were involved in guarding the Malfoys at the Manor," Arthur continued, "they will be testifying during their trials. So we'll all need to be keeping a very watchful eye on them."

"And stop looking all surprised and bashful, Harry. Your eyes are young and sharp, as watchful as our old ones. And, as Destroyer of Voldemort, you may find you have quite a lot of clout with the Wizengamot during these trials; you'll find yourself being invited to speak, and should have the refreshing experience of actually being listened to."

Harry was a bit panicked by this, asking "… so what am I supposed to say?"

"I think the only real answer to that," Kingsley replied, "is to tell them like it is, straight from the heart."

And though they spoke together at great length until just before nine, that was the piece of advice which stuck with Harry most.

* * *

They entered Courtroom Ten as the Wizengamot filed in, the members all wearing the traditional plum-coloured robes, most of them prominently displaying the silver 'W' which confirmed them as members of the Wizengamot-in-session. With Albus Dumbledore dead, a new Chief Warlock had been chosen. Harry was happy to see it was Albus's lifelong friend Elphias Doge. Harry noticed with interest that Doge was looking quite uncomfortable to be wearing such finery; certainly he wasn't vainly displaying the 'W' on his robe; it was in fact accidentally caught in a fold and looked more like a 'V' than a 'W'.

"Ah, Harry - Mr. Potter," he said softly, sounding more like a grandfather than a high official and only just remembering to use Harry's surname, "I'm so glad you could join us. I think we would all agree that the recent history of justice meted out by this court rather leaves something to be desired; particularly in your case."

"Very regrettable, I'm sure," a senior witch sitting to his left agreed. "And for that reason, Mr. Potter, given your experience from, so to speak, the other side of the bar, we had rather hoped for your assistance in framing a set of procedures that will enable us to conduct business in a –"

"—a less Fudged manner," Doge broke in, smiling at his own joke. Harry gave an answering grin; even though having been on the receiving end of Minister Fudge's machinations, he didn't find the jest particularly funny.

"I'm quite overwhelmed and I'm not sure what I have to offer," Harry began, affecting modesty, though after their conference he had worked out pretty well how he wanted things to end up. "I suppose the first thing is to make sure that we all agree what we are trying to achieve?"

Various members nodded sagely; but one rather cross-looking wizard said "I should have thought it was obvious!"

The witch who had spoken earlier replied, "Indeed, Libatius? Then perhaps you would be kind enough to expound it to us?" Her voice was quite sincere and earnest, but there was a twinkle in her eye and suddenly Harry was sure she was baiting him. _This might even be fun_, he thought, _if only Draco's future didn't hang on it._

"Well Dalmatea, we're here to …" the wizard began, paused, then came out with, "… to establish the guilt of those tried, of course!"

"I see," Dalmatea continued, in an ominously soft voice, "not their innocence, if they are, then?"

"Well of course!"

"But mostly their guilt, I fear," said Elphias. "Surely this is exactly the point. We can't just presume guilt. Do we not need to look beyond this room, these trials, and ask how we might best build a world that, as Mr. Potter's friend Professor Lupin so eloquently put it, we can live a happier life?"

There was more nodding and murmuring; but Libatius wasn't having any of it. "And what is that going to mean in practice?" he demanded.

"Perhaps," Harry suggested, deferentially, "we should begin by trying to find the truth, rather than guilt or innocence?"

"An enchanting idea," said Libatius, coldly. It made Harry think of Snape; and then it suddenly dawned on him who he was talking to. Libatius Borage, author of '_Advanced Potion-Making_', the school Potions textbook for N.E.W.T.-level classes.

"Excuse me, sir, but are you Libatius Borage?" he asked.

"We forget our manners," Elphias said, "yes, indeed, Mr. Potter, allow me to introduce our esteemed members Libatius Borage and Dalmatea Merrythought."

_Merrythought?_ He wondered. "Professor Galatea Merrythought's daughter?" he asked. Galatea had taught Defense at Hogwarts for nearly fifty years; he remembered that Dumbledore had mentioned her as being one of his teachers.

Dalmatea beamed. "Yes indeed," she replied, "my mother has followed your career with great interest."

"She's still alive?"

"Oh yes; but she mostly stays at home these days. Can't be bothered with society any more. Which, at a hundred and thirty-eight, is probably forgivable."

"Enchanting as this discussion may be," Borage broke in, "perhaps we could continue with the matter at hand?"

_What is it with Potions Masters and being a moody git? _Harry wondered to himself.

"Which was about finding the truth, I think," a younger wizard interjected. "Do you have Veritaserum for us, Liberius?"

At this, Liberius puffed up a little. Harry just knew he was going to show off.

"As it happens, I have something better," he began. "My dear friend Severus Snape" – Harry suppressed a snort, he had read the notes in Snape's copy of _Advanced Potion-Making _and knew exactly what Snape thought of the man – "has bequeathed me a large vat containing a most interesting potion he called 'Expositor Falsitas'. Apparently, even the spells and oaths the Death Eaters used are not proof against it. Instead of forcing those who take it to tell the truth, it makes it impossible to tell a lie."

Harry sat up. Borage went on about how it worked and theories about Death Eater potions, but he wasn't very interested in that. Snape had been a Death Eater himself, and a first-class Potions Master; if he had said that it worked, then Harry was certain that it would. And he was sure of it for another reason: he had a sense that the voice of his dreams was encouraging him that it was so, and somehow he knew that voice would never lie to him.

"So," the younger wizard replied, "we should make the accused take it?"

Harry saw his opening. "Why just the accused?" he asked. "How about, as a show of good faith, we all take it ourselves? And ask all witnesses to take it as well?"

There was a general hubbub, in which a few random pronouncements could be heard.

"What?" someone expostulated.

"Doesn't he trust us?" another witch asked.

"Ladies, gentlemen, magicals all" Doge began, calmly and softly, but his voice somehow had the power to calm everyone down. "I don't believe there's any suggestion of 'not trusting' here. As Mr. Potter has said, why not take the potion as a gesture of good faith? To show the world that we are concerned enough for the truth to ensure that no-one can give us anything else? Libatius, is there sufficient potion for the purpose? And are you convinced that it is safe?"

"Oh yes, Professor Snape left an alarmingly large amount, though perhaps he had anticipated this turn of events." Borage said and Harry wondered about that. Was Snape that clever? _Possibly_. "And yes, I have tested the potion and it certainly has no ill effects, and genuinely prevents those who take it from lying. Unfortunately, there appears to be no counter-potion; so one has to wait for the effects to wear off…"

"How long does that take?" the younger wizard asked, agitated.

"Twelve hours," came the reply.

"I think we should do it." Dalmatea said, daring them to disagree. Something in her face said that she didn't actually believe her colleagues could live without lying for twelve hours.

There was a discussion all round, and eventually it was decided to adopt Harry's rather unorthodox suggestion. Harry, for his part, took notice of those who were most put out by the suggestion; they, he decided, were the ones with something to hide. And if the Wizengamot was serious about getting to the truth, they were the ones of most interest.

* * *

At this point there was a short adjournment, the potion was fetched, and everyone had a cup of tea, then took the potion as they re-entered the chamber to take their seats.

The next issue was whether being Death Eater should automatically imply guilt. Harry was dismayed to find that there was a sizeable faction inside the Wizengamot that thought that it should. Where was the desire for truth if they were going to stick to simple prejudice to decide for them? And also, he admitted to himself a little bitterly, he had a personal angle, a less pure motivation: if having been a Death Eater was a ticket to Azkaban, Draco and Lucius were doomed before the trial started.

But in fact there was no need to worry. Doge proved himself quite masterly. He pointed out the same thought about prejudice in such a mild way, asking as if for the Wizengamot's help, that they didn't notice how much they had been lead when they concluded that it was, like blood status, a fact of interest, but not conclusive one way or the other as to guilt.

Harry was becoming very impressed with the Chief Warlock. He didn't seem to get ruffled, never raised his voice, and had the whole lot eating out of his hand.

* * *

At this point in the proceedings it was suggested that the members might like to break for a spot of lunch. The suggestion was received with alacrity and the chamber emptied with almost indecent speed. Harry found himself invited to lunch with Kingsley, Arthur, and, to his surprise, Elphias Doge himself.

It was a pleasant meal, with light, though not particularly light-hearted, conversation; but when they had finished eating, things naturally took a more serious turn.

"What about you, Harry?" Doge asked him. "What's in your future, do you think?"

"You know we would welcome you into the Auror programme in August with open arms," Kingsley added.

"Thank you, sir – Kingsley," Harry added, just managing not to be scolded. "But Headmistress McGonagall said something about a special study programme, and at Professor Snape's funeral I sort of decided I should sign up for it."

"Might one enquire why?" Doge asked, diffidently.

"Well, firstly, I got the message from the will that Professor Snape actually held out some hope for me, scholastically, which was more than he'd ever said at Hogwarts. But it's not just like I owe it to him. I want to be my own man, to achieve my own successes; I guess I feel like if I join up to Auror training without doing the N.E.W.T.s I'll always feel I got accepted because of my fame, not my ability."

"That's a very fair answer, Harry," Kingsley said, a rather thoughtful expression on his face. The truth is that Harry's maturity had taken him by surprise. The young wizard had acquitted himself magnificently before the Wizengamot this morning, and, between him and Doge, the Minister began to allow himself to hope that the trials wouldn't just give the knee-jerk "stick 'em in Azkaban and throw away the key" result that had been threatening a week ago. "The Headmistress and I are still consulting on the specifics, but at the moment the idea is to bring the starting date forward to the beginning of July, with special classes for the eighth-years, as they would be known. The idea will be that as hopefully you'll have a little more maturity than the other students, you'll be able to complete studies by the end of January, and then have a little space before the seventh-years graduate at the end of June."

Harry gasped. That made three months less in total than a normal school year for the hardest year of all – it was a bit of a tall order! But he could understand the reasoning – if both seventh and eighth years graduated at the same time, there would be no-one available for any graduate programme for a whole year, and then a double lot. The gap should ease the problem in both ways – eighth-year graduates would be available to start work or further study sooner, and not have to compete against the normal output which would come four months later.

"I shouldn't worry too much, Harry," Doge said, kindlily. "And for the moment, we have to get through these trials; I'm afraid it's time to begin."

With that, lunch was over.

* * *

The trial of the Wizengamot against Narcissa Malfoy began right after lunch, at one o'clock.

Narcissa was brought in, given the new serum, and made to sit on the rather plain uncomfortable-looking high-backed defendant's chair in the middle of the room. When she put her arms on the arms of the chair, they were bound by cords that came out of the armrests and snaked around her arms.

Several people gasped at that. The outrage, though silent, was palpable: _a pure-blood treated like a common criminal! _

Narcissa ignored the cords altogether.

There was no evidence that she had been a Death Eater, so she was charged with aiding and abetting other Death Eaters, and "providing succour to the enemy".

Elphias looked at Harry, who was silently going red. "Do you have something to say, Mr. Potter?" he asked, formally, but not unkindly.

Harry rose. "If I may," he answered, "Narcissa Malfoy is no criminal. If she aided and abetted, if she _succoured –" _(he hissed the word scornfully) "- it was because her son and husband were hostage to perhaps the most evil wizard who ever lived. She knew he would have killed either of them without compuction, without a second thought, if it had suited his purpose to do so. And even under this provocation, she showed her true colours when she lied to Voldemort. She told him I was dead when she knew perfectly well I was alive."

Here he was interrupted by the very elderly but still sprightly former Professor Griselda Marchbanks who wanted to know how she had established this.

"She spoke to me, and I replied."

He was asked what had been said.

"She asked me if Draco was alive; I told her that he was safe in Hogwarts Castle."

"Perhaps, then," a stern-looking wizard opined, "she wasn't concerned for you at all, only her miserable son?"

"I don't think that's fair." Harry answered. "She is a mother; of course she was worried about her son. But I believe she looked at me then and remembered that I was someone else's son; and that my mother wasn't there to be concerned for me."

Kingsley, who had been silent throughout up until now, broke in at this point. "Whatever her motives may have been, her actions were surely foundational to the downfall of Lord Voldemort. Had he learnt Harry was alive, who knows what he would have done?"

The Wizengamot considered this for a while, conversation going to and fro. Elphias cleared his throat, and they suddenly quietened.

"I think we must all agree with the Minister," he said, quite mildly, "which would rather mean an acquittal; or am I mistaken?"

Harry continued to be very impressed by the man. He clearly had no interest in fripperies; but the way he had put it made the conclusion irresistable, and indeed the Wizengamot quickly agreed. And so, merely an hour after she had been arraigned, Narcissa was excused, the cords were removed, and she was given leave to go where she would. Of course, she didn't go anywhere; instead, she went over to Harry, thanked him for his assistance, and sat with him to see what would happen next.

* * *

"It pleases the Wizengamot to call to trial Draco Malfoy, son of the wizard Lucius, sometimes styled Lord, Malfoy, and the witch Narcissa née Black, for his actions in the Wizarding War," the clerk of summons read out. Draco was led into the room, and Harry was shocked to see the difference two days had made. He was always pale; but he was now looking quite ghastly, and his hair, while still much more presentable than Harry's, was a far cry from its usual immaculate state. As he entered, he looked around the room, ignoring everyone until his eyes fell on Harry. Then Draco's face changed. A simple smile transformed him, some of his old bravado returned, and he once again looked like the Prince of Slytherin House, a force to be reckoned with.

Even if his hair was still a bit messy.

He sat on the chair with arms crossed and avoided the cords by the simple device of refusing point-blank to uncross his arms. He glowered at Proudfoot, the Auror in charge, so fiercely that the latter simply sat back and allowed this unusual state of affairs.

Having taken the mark, Draco was tried as a Death Eater, and a full history of his deeds was discussed. He was asked in detail about them, and so the Wizengamot discovered that, though Voldemort had instructed him to kill Dumbledore, not only did he not do so, but he would not have done so even if Snape had not stepped in.

The discussion surprised Harry because they didn't approach things chronologically; after discussing Dumbledore's death, they returned to Draco's ancestry and the fact that he had been born into a Death Eater family (Harry was glad to see that this fact elicited some sympathy); but eventually the history came to points that Harry himself could touch on. He explained about how Draco had saved his life by not identifying him when he had been disguised by Hermione's stinging hex; how he had tried unsuccessfully to stop Crabbe from using Fiendfyre; and how generally incompetent he had been, Harry strongly hinting this being because he was following orders from Voldemort, not acting willingly.

Against this was set the fact that he had in fact taken the mark, though, it was argued persuasively by Narcissa, unwillingly; he had repaired the Vanishing Cabinet and thus allowed Death Eaters into Hogwarts; and that he had poisoned Katie Bell and Ronald Weasley. Ron was brought forward at this point, and testified that Draco's target had been Dumbledore, and that Draco couldn't really have been serious – Albus Dumbledore was too clever to be taken in by such a ruse. There was a general chuckle around the assembled wizards and witches; nearly all of them remembered Dumbledore from school days and obviously had formed more or less the same opinion.

Harry and Draco's relationship was also examined. And here Harry got a nasty shock. He had explained how they had been rivals at school, but that since the events just after the Battle of Hogwarts, the removal of the mark and the restoration of magic, their relationship had been mending, and Draco was showing an increased level of maturity.

Auror Crockford asked permission to speak. "Of course, Dandelus," Doge answered, though a little dubiously.

"Mr. Potter has told us of an increased maturity," he began. "How does he square that with a boy who has hidden himself away and pouted for most of the last week? How, especially, can we reconcile it with a boy who, on his first public outing, slapped the Destroyer of Voldemort and attracted vile curses on his second?"

_Damn!_ Harry thought. He should have seen this coming. Of course the Aurors had witnessed the slap, and it would be Crockford who had been on duty at the time. And this little question was pure poison – he connected the slap to the other things that were irrelevant, but it looked like they added up to Draco being the same spoilt brat he'd been at school, and undid a lot of Harry's evidence as to his character. He could feel the goodwill towards Draco waning right in front of his face.

Harry took a deep breath before answering. He decided to attack the weakest point first.

"Thank you for bringing these matters up," he began – the legalese seemed to be soaking into him, he thought, but it did buy him a few more precious seconds to put his thoughts in order. "Let me start by pointing out that being cursed is not itself proof of anything. Indeed, I understand that Mr. Nott has been arraigned for casting Sectumsempra during peace time, and will face this court sometime soon?" There was general nodding at this, which was exactly what Harry wanted – they had heard about it, they knew about it, and they were starting to come back on his side. "Mr. Draco Malfoy had curses directed against him – and I protected him. He did slap me, yes, but you can see that I still thought, still think, he is worth protecting. Draco isn't a boy. He's an of-age wizard. His slap was not a boy fighting another boy, but a man who saw his friend – me – at the time despairing, needing a wake-up call. The slap wasn't to hurt me, it was to bring me back to my right mind. It wasn't the action of a pouting child, lashing out to wound, but of an adult seeking to help. And if Draco hid away in his bedroom, perhaps he found the atmosphere was not particularly friendly? Surely we can understand resenting the fact that he was in his own home but not allowed to do what he wanted, to go where and when he pleased?"

Harry sat down. He could feel that his words might, just might, have won support back. Time would tell.

* * *

This time, at the completion of evidence, which did not happen until six o'clock, Harry and all witnesses were asked to withdraw, the accused was returned to the holding cell, and the Wizengamot started a private session.

Harry sat outside the chamber, in the morning-tea room, anxiously awaiting the verdict. "How long do you think they will take?" he asked Auror Banks, who was on duty with them.

"I can't rightly say, sir," said Banks, in an official voice. No-one would have gathered that he and Harry were friends; he was being the professional, and Harry respected that greatly. The Auror continued, "but the Wizengamot has asked me to make sure you are available – they expect to call you in soon to discuss any points that are needed."

As though summoned by the words, the door opened, and Kingsley popped his head through.

"Harry, could you come in please?" he asked.

* * *

Harry had no idea what to expect. He hoped that Draco would be let off scot-free; he feared he would be sentenced to Azkaban. In the end, neither of these proved to be the case. The Wizengamot asked him a few questions, to which he replied briefly; they were more than satisfied with his answers, and called the accused back to the chamber.

Draco was not sent to Azkaban; but he was required to surrender his wand and reside at the Manor "or such other place as may be approved by the Minister" until the school year began. He would have to keep the Ministry informed of his whereabouts at all times, and not use the Floo network unless explicitly sanctioned. Once classes resumed, he was required to attend eighth year at Hogwarts, and during his time at the school he would be under the authority of Mr. Potter, who had accepted the responsibility gladly. He would not be allowed to apparate at any time for the next year, nor leave the country, nor attempt to conceal his whereabouts, nor perform any offensive magic other than as required for his schoolwork. It was impressed upon him that a breach of any of these probationary conditions would see him in front of the Wizengamot again, in which case a custodial sentence would probably prove inevitable.

At this point, Draco thanked the court most politely and returned into the custody of Aurors Proudfoot and Banks, who took him out into the adjacent tea-room.

The Wizengamot now stood adjourned for the day.

* * *

Banks had signaled to Harry to follow, and when he reached the room he found him talking to Narcissa. As he came in, Narcissa looked up and smiled at him.

"Harry, thank you so much for your assistance today," she said. "Our family owe you a great debt of gratitude."

"Please, Narcissa, I had to," he replied, his face turning red with embarrassment.

Narcissa thought at that moment that he looked impossibly cute, though she would not have dared tell him so. "We were wondering if you would do us the honour of dining with us at the Manor?"

Harry blinked. Here, unlooked for but most welcome, was an opportunity to visit the Manor without Lucius, who was still in one of the Ministry's holding cells, waiting to be tried tomorrow. He smiled.

"That would be lovely."

* * *

_**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Thanks to Bicky Monster for being my beta._

_Welcome to all who have suscribed; thanks to those who favorite, and especially those who review!_

_**MirrorFlower and DarkWind**: Hope that's soon enough for you! We'll have to see if he gets to be with Harry, but dinner sounds promising, don't you think? _

_**Cherrie-san**: your comments always make me think! We will see how they take it, but Lucius's response is not for this chapter or the next. But you're right, he won't be the soul of reasonableness..._

_**aminaluvr4life**: Thanks, it's really helpful to know what people think works._


	15. Returning the Trust

**15. Returning the trust**

_Wednesday, May 13 1998_

Harry dreamed …

* * *

"_Draco Malfoy, this court finds you guilty of the death of Albus Dumbledore and sentences you to the Dementor's Kiss …"_

"_NO!" He screamed, but the words came out muffled and indistinct. "NO! It wasn't Draco! It was Snape, following Dumbledore's orders! NO! YOU CAN'T! NOOOOO!"_

* * *

"Harry … Harry …. HARRY! WAKE UP!"

Harry woke up feeling very panicked, which faded as he found Draco's arms encircling him.

"What happened?" Harry asked, somewhat out of breath from fear, as he cast _Lumos_ wordlessly without even thinking and his wand-tip came alight.

"You were yelling in your sleep. Nightmare?"

Then he remembered. "I dreamt … Oh Draco, I dreamt they'd sentenced you to be Kissed!"

"Hush," Draco said soothingly, rubbing Harry's back. "They didn't, remember? I'm here, I'm not going anywhere, I promise."

"Will you stay with me now?" Harry asked in a small voice.

"Of course," Draco replied, letting go for a moment so he could lift the covers and snuggle in with his friend. Harry whimpered slightly at the loss of contact, but quietened when Draco put his arms around him again, and clasped him tight, his left hand coming over to gently stroke the raven tresses of the frightened man. Harry slowly relaxed into the embrace, and it wasn't long before they were both fast asleep.

* * *

Harry came back to consciousness slowly. He felt lovely and warm and comforted, and lay in bed for a moment, his eyes still closed as he moved to stretch a little. He ran over the events of the previous night in his mind.

After the trial, they had dined at the Manor, which had been very pleasant. Narcissa had been a charming hostess, and seemed very happy at how comfortable the two young men were with each other. They had discussed all sorts of topics, but Narcissa had managed to avoid any real contention. She had praised Hermione for her intellect, which Harry found very strange; but as Draco pointed out, they didn't have to be friends with people to admire their skill, and Hermione was a better student than most Ravenclaws, never mind Gryffindors!

They had talked until very late, and Narcissa had suggested that he stay the night. Draco objected that the guest rooms still bore signs of their recent occupants; Harry didn't want to think about that. But Narcissa had things in hand: she replied that a bed could easily be set up in Draco's study, which had of course never been slept in by anyone. Harry had accepted gratefully. He hadn't drunk much, but more than he was used to (that being none), and probably too much to Apparate safely, and he really didn't feel like risking the Floo network either. He wasn't fond of it when stone-cold sober, he could imagine the effect that it might have on him when tipsy, and staying where he was definitely seemed the better option.

He remembered the good-night kiss Draco had given him; he was growing addicted to his kisses, so gentle and loving, full of hope and promise for more to come.

He remembered the happy feeling of lying in bed with his almost-lover in the room next door. He'd listened to Draco's even breathing as he fell asleep; it kept him smiling long after he was fast asleep himself.

He remembered the incident in the middle of the night, the feeling of arms encircling him, comforting words, and Draco promising to stay. Remembered with a little feeling of shame at having a nightmare and a large feeling of delight for the comfort he had received.

But now he worried: what did Draco think? They had actually slept in the same bed; that had to change things, right? Were they ready for that?

He opened one sleepy brilliant-green eye. Draco was sitting up in the bed, looking down at him, a smile on his face and concern etched in his grey eyes.

"Good morning," he said, stroking Harry's hair. "Are you feeling better?"

"Much," said Harry, and sat up himself, tentatively pulling Draco towards him.

But he found there was no reason for fear. Draco gripped him as before and soon they were cuddling happily. Draco was rather hoping that their "good morning" kiss might become something else when there was a knock on the door and the moment was lost.

"Excuse me, young masters," Dippy the house-elf sang out, "but Mistress Narcissa is asking you to be getting up now."

"All right, Dippy, all right," Draco moaned.

A quick _Tempus_ charm showed it was only quarter to seven and Harry wondered why they had to get up so early. He found out fairly soon: his own shower and change took him a quarter of an hour, but Draco then took nearly a whole hour to get ready. When he had finished, every hair in place, clothing immaculate, he came and looked Harry over critically. He had lent Harry some of his clothes; happily they were more or less of a size, though Draco had an inch or two on him; but some of his older clothes fit rather well, Harry thought.

Draco didn't agree. He spent nearly ten minutes fussing about every wrinkle, getting everything to sit just right, even rebuttoning the shirt to make everything sit perfectly. Harry found this rather endearing: he normally didn't care and just pulled clothes on, but he accepted that it was important to look good for the trials.

Draco showed him the result in a mirror, and Harry had to admit that it was a vast improvement on how he was usually turned out. At least, he admitted it to himself; he wasn't about to hand Draco ammunition like that! But he smiled at his almost-lover. And that title made him think that perhaps it was time they discussed what was going on between them.

"Draco," he asked, "how would you describe our, er, relationship?"

"Hmmm. Good question." the blond replied, thoughtfully. "Um, I guess we're more than just friends, right? I mean, you seemed to be really happy with me in your bed, yeah? You were, right?"

Now here was something rather wonderful – Draco Malfoy being all tentative! Harry felt rather delighted by this; it meant that the Malfoy Mask really was down; the walls Draco had built to keep people out were crumbling before him.

"Yeah," he said, with a brilliant smile, then on impulse captured Draco's lips into a kiss. "More than friends. But less than lovers. For the moment. I think of you as my almost-lover."

Draco chuckled. "Almost-lovers. I'm good with that," he replied. "For the moment." _Though maybe we could change it soon,_ he thought. It was a huge thing to him that Harry had trusted him enough to welcome him to his bed. He wanted to return that trust with love as interest.

At which point Dippy reappeared, sent by Narcissa to make sure they actually got to breakfast.

* * *

Draco was given leave to attend his father's trial, and of course Narcissa did not need leave, being free to go where she chose; so the three of them arrived together at Courtroom Ten at quarter to nine, just as the Wizengamot began to file in. After consultation with the Aurors about the business of the day, Narcissa explained to Harry that Lucius's trial would be rather different to Draco's or hers; he had been a Death Eater for such a long time, after all. The entirety of the first day was going to be taken up discussing events that Harry knew very little of, so she urged him to go away and have some fun somewhere else. He was unhappy about this; but Draco pointed out that they both really wanted to be together in private, so sitting together bored in public was going to be torture, and they owed him too much to put him through it.

Eventually, Harry capitulated, and asked leave to leave the courtroom. Elphias Doge smiled at him.

"Of course, Mr. Potter. You are a free wizard and welcome to come and go as you choose; we are indebted to you for your invaluable assistance yesterday, and I hope to see you tomorrow?"

"Yes, sir," Harry answered.

"I understand the Minister is still concerned that Mr. Potter to be guarded at all times?"

"Quite so, sir," Kingsley answered, gravely. With Yaxley at large, it was even more important than before.

"Auror Banks, would you be kind enough to accompany Mr. Potter?"

Robin agreed, formally, and they left the Courtroom together as the 'Expositor Falsitas' potion was distributed. Harry grinned to himself, pleased that they were continuing with that idea. He wondered how the politicians on the Wizengamot felt about telling only the truth for twelve hours; but they probably just went into hiding. After all, the potion didn't force them to tell the truth; it just stopped them from lying. So they probably just said nothing. He wondered idly if they could make it compulsory for Ministry officials to take it every day; but he decided that that would be just as bad as all the old Ministry ways. People had to be free, and that included being free to tell lies, he supposed. But not during court cases.

Inside the courtroom Robin had given no hint that he and Harry were friends, but as soon as they left the room he gave Harry and huge hug and said that he was thinking too much for a man who'd been told to have fun.

"Right," he said, "where shall we go today?"

Now, of course, Harry had to decide what to do next. _It's all very well for the Malfoys to tell me to have fun_, he thought, _but how am I going to do that? _

But the answer was rather obvious once he had asked himself the question, and he found his feet leading them to Diagon Alley and Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes to see how the twins were doing.

"Harry!" George yelled as soon as he saw him. "Hermioninny has been so worried about you! / You didn't come home last night apparently! / **OOOOOHHH! Naughty boy!**" they finished together, the whole speech being done in an astonishingly good imitation of a cross between Molly and Hermione at their most motherly.

Harry dissolved into laughter. "I had a lovely dinner at the Malfoys', and it got rather late, so they invited me to stay the night," he replied, when he got his voice back.

"'S all right," Fred said, with a wink, "we know you're a big boy now."

George continued, "Did you and Draco have fun?"

_It would be George who asked that_, Harry thought to himself, his face rather betraying how much fun he had had by turning rather red. Not, George thought to himself, as red as Neville had turned, but endearing nonetheless.

All he said was, "yes." And then, "um, do you think I could hang around with you guys today? I feel a bit down about things, and Draco is a bit busy with his father's trial…."

"Of course!" the twins yelled together at once. "A play day!"

And it was. They talked Harry through their latest ideas. They had just finished an Anti-Vanity Potion that you painted on mirrors; to begin with, it did nothing visible, but if you kept staring at yourself it would make your reflection look green and pimples would appear, growing bigger the longer you stood there. It was a typical, silly Weasley prank and Harry loved it.

Neville appeared and took Harry and George out to the greenhouse he had built at the back to show off a simple trick he had designed with some plants. They had large bell-like flowers which he had grown with a clever spell; as Harry watched, the flowers changed colour through the shades of the rainbow.

"Not a prank," Neville said apologetically, "but just something pretty and fun. You can get exactly the colour changes you want, and I'm working on a version which will even let you change them from time to time."

"You're too modest, Neville," George said, earning a shy smile from his boyfriend. "We love them, and so do our customers – we have hundreds of orders for them and Neville can't keep up with the demand! In fact, we're introducing colours into a lot of our range; it seems to be the in thing for the moment!"

Harry, impressed, explained that the Muggles had a similar sort of thing, done using electricity, which they called "fairy-lights". The fairies would not be amused, Neville decided.

Harry was wondering where the new confident Neville had gone; but as they started back for the shop, Neville winked at him and he suddenly realized what was going on. Neville had deliberately understated the case, just to let George praise him. He fell back to chat with him.

"Bit manipulative there, Nev; are you thinking of changing to Slytherin?" he asked, quietly.

"No," Neville said with a grin, "but George loves to praise my work, so why not give him the chance?"

"It's OK, I get it," Harry reassured him. It showed him something important: if he was going to be in a relationship with Draco, he would have to be prepared to give thought to how Draco worked and make sure he had space to do things his way. It was going to take a bit of work, Harry was sure, because they could both be rather – well, the polite word was _headstrong_, but the more honest one would be _pig-headed_ …

As they entered the shop, they found things had started to get busy: apparently word had got around that Harry was there, and people were coming in for the chance to see him as well as for the twins' prank items. Harry still wasn't used to being a celebrity, and probably never would be; he was sure he'd never enjoy it. But for the moment, it was quite useful, as the people who came to see him all seemed quite happy to buy a few extra items that he recommended, and so once more when he was handed a cup of tea at eleven o'clock, he was told that about half the takings were because he was there. He disputed it this time; but Fred ran him through the figures and showed him that yes, based on their sales from the last few days, they had sold about twice as much as they had by eleven o'clock on the previous days.

Like Draco had been on Saturday, Harry was very impressed with how on top of business the two were. It was easy to dismiss them as pranksters and playful jokers; but in fact they made very good and trustworthy businessmen, with a keen eye for what would sell, and obviously a finger kept firmly on the pulse to make sure sales kept up. Harry was delighted to learn that his thousand galleon investment was taken so seriously and looked after so well – though really he had trusted the twins rather than the shop, and they had returned that trust in love a hundred times over, as far as Harry was concerned.

"Getting a bit serious there, little bro," Fred said, breaking in on his thoughts.

"How about some revelry instead of reverie?" George said, and, leaving Neville in charge of the shop, they went outside and proceeded to show off some of their products.

The Bouncing Balloon-Chairs had been refined a bit; the twins took one each, and threw them at him. When they hit, they surrounded him and he found himself tumbling around inside a ball that wouldn't ever let him stay upright. It managed to be infuriating and exhilarating at the same time, and Harry struggled to express himself, coming out with peals of laughter and shouts of frustration all at the same time.

The noise couldn't fail to attract more people who came to see what it was all about and stayed to watch the fun, and of course buy some for themselves; and by lunch-time Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes had already done well: in half a day they had sold more than in a normal day's trading.

At lunchtime the twins suggested they go to the Burrow; they were sure that Molly would be delighted to have them all. Neville said he'd mind the shop and shooed the rest of them away, including Robin. Of course they were right: Molly bustled over very excited as soon as they came through the Floo, and wrapped Harry in a hug and told him she'd heard he hadn't gone home and she had missed him at breakfast-time; he apologized but the twins cut in straight away:

"Leave him alone mum, he's a big boy now; / and he spent the night at his –"

"The Malfoy's house," Harry cut in. He really did not want Molly to know how the twins would describe his relationship; he wasn't sure he wanted to know himself yet.

"Never mind, you're here now, that's the main thing." Spotting the Auror, Molly continued, "and Robin too! GINNY!"

"Coming mum!" her daughter shouted from her room, and she thundered downstairs to them. As soon as she saw Robin, her face lit up, and she crashed into him with a huge hug, which Harry noticed was fully reciprocated. He hoped that he and Draco could learn to be so openly excited about one another. That would probably be a challenge for his almost-lover, he decided; so Harry's challenge would be to get him to do it. _Challenge accepted,_ he decided, grinning to himself. But it was noticed.

"Little bro-o-ther," Fred trilled, coming to stand close to his right side and dropping his voice, "that's an evil grin. What's going on in that head of yours?"

"Oh, nothing," Harry said, rather too quickly.

"And would this 'nothing'," said George from his left side, "be a sort of 'nothing' that didn't happen to involve someone not called 'Draco Malfoy'?"

This was a bit too hard to work out, Harry thought, but he was spared by Molly, who had lunch on the table. It never ceased to amaze him how there was always food available at the Weasleys: four guests had dropped in unannounced, and yet lunch was there ten minutes later, with no signs of effort or panic.

They all ate their fill, and Molly suggested Ginny might like to help at the shop for the afternoon. Gin agreed enthusiastically, and Harry was sure that the truth was that she wanted to see Robin. But they had a very pleasant afternoon nonetheless, punctuated by two visits to Fortescue's. There would have been more, but Harry was still feeling rather guilty about the amount he'd eaten on Wednesday.

He decided to invite them all to dinner at Grimmauld Place, and the other five were all very happy to accept.

"Kreacher!" Harry called, and the elderly elf appeared with a pop. "Do you think you could feed all of us this evening!"

"Of course Master Harry!" Kreacher burbled. "There is being Ron and Hermione, and two Aurors, and six more for dinner?"

"Yes, that's right," said Harry, "oh and I'm sorry I didn't tell you I wasn't coming home last night but I didn't know myself till it happened."

"Master Harry is not needing to apologize to Kreacher!" the elf insisted, with some heat. "Kreacher is not being Master Harry's mother that he has to tell him everywhere he goes!"

Harry laughed. "Then perhaps you'd better apologize to Ron and Hermione for me instead. But I'll come and do it myself soon enough. Thank you, Kreacher."

"Thank **you**, Master Potter sir," chortled the house-elf, disapparating with a pop.

Dinner was another wonderful meal; Ron and Hermione were overjoyed to see him again and, like Kreacher, insisted that he didn't have to tell them where he was. Once more, the twins surrounded him; this time there was no elf-wine, but Kreacher produced some very nice wine from the house's cellar, and there was fire-whiskey as well.

For the third night in a row, Harry found himself having drunk more than was entirely good for him. The main effect, though, was to make him grin like a loon; the twins were delighted to find their little brother being a happy drunk, and quickly discovered that pinching him when he was drunk with wine made him giggle, which they found irresistible. By ten o'clock he was covered in red pinch marks; he was also out of it, falling asleep at the dinner table. They laid him gently on his bed and surrounded him with pillows, putting cushions on the floor in case he fell off, with a glass of water handy in case he woke up thirsty, and a bowl in case he needed to throw up. Neville, who had been careful not to drink too much, went back to guard the shop; he felt it was his job, after all, as caretaker. The twins told him he didn't have to, the protection spells would be enough, but he insisted.

Robin, the twins and Ginny decided to stay the night at Grimmauld Place "just to be sure Harry's all right". The twins were given separate beds in one bedroom, and chatted to one another happily for a long time. Gin and Robin were given adjoining rooms; when Gin went into hers, she found that Kreacher had enlarged the bed to queensize, and there was a communicating door to Robin's room. "Kreacher promises not to tell **anyone**," he said, with a wink.

So it's perhaps no surprise that Harry, the most drunk out of all of them, had the best sleep…

* * *

_Thursday, May 14 1998_

Thursday saw them all back in court again, this time including Ron and Hermione. The twins had come with them, but left for the shop soon afterwards, after making Harry promise to come and see them if he felt down again. Weasley's All-Purpose Pepper-Up Potion hadn't been quite up to getting rid of Harry's headache, but surprisingly Borage had obviously noticed the problem and quietly slipped him a phial of Hangover Cure, which worked instantly. Harry wondered if he had found another curmudgeonly Potions Master with a secret soft spot for him. He also wondered why the man carried Hangover Cure around with him; there was more to Mr Borage than met the eye, he decided.

Lucius's trial dragged on at great length, every point raised being discussed from many angles. Lucius, Harry noticed, was very clever: he stood up for himself when that was important, but occasionally would let the Wizengamot talk itself to a standstill, then add a few comments that turned the point around. It was a masterful reminder of just how good a politician the man was. Especially given that, like everyone else present, he had been given 'Expositor Falsitas' and so could not make any false statement.

Harry gave what evidence he could, again trying to convey a picture of a man whose family was held to ransom. He really had no idea what to expect from this trial – for Lucius, the Dementor's Kiss was a real possibility. His nightmare about Draco being Kissed came back to him and he realized that he didn't want that, not even for Lucius. Harry had freed Lucius's magic, he did feel something for him because of it, and he repeated what he had said to Kingsley on Monday: that Lucius may have been a bastard, and made his life uncomfortable; but that wasn't a crime. That Lucius had lived, and the Wizarding world couldn't decide who lived or died, but had to work with who was still alive. He talked about how they needed him to help the pure-bloods see that it wasn't about prejudice. He discussed how Lucius was respected by the other pure-bloods (he was a bit cagy about saying this; but he could see the pure-blooded members generally seemed to accept it) and could help them to see that the only way forward, the only future for all of them, was to work together.

When he sat down, Draco held his hand and whispered "thank you" in a voice full of emotion. Without thinking, Harry leant over and kissed him on the cheek. Draco took in a sharp breath, and looked around. But no-one had seen; and the reason why became clear when his eyes found Robin Banks, who gave him a little smile and mouthed 'notice-me-not'. The Auror had cast the charm to make sure that they had not been noticed. It was an incredible feeling to Draco to think that the Auror had actually gone out of his way to protect them like that.

In the end, Lucius was not sentenced to the Kiss. The Chief Warlock made it clear – without naming names – that this was largely due to Harry's testimony. Lucius was, however, sentence to five years in Azkaban.

Harry was stunned. He gasped, "oh no!" in such obvious distress that the whole courtroom looked at him.

"It's alright, Harry," Draco assured him; it wasn't really, but his father had been in Azkaban before, he would survive, Draco was sure.

"It's very touching that you care, Harry", Narcissa assured him; and he could see something of the same feeling in Lucius's eyes.

They had all accepted it; but Hermione Granger had other ideas. She jumped to her feet.

"May it please the court," she began, and Harry grinned just a little at how easily she used the pompous legal jargon, "I wonder if a suspended sentence might be suggested?"

There was a general hubbub and it became clear that this was a new thought for them.

"Thank you for the suggestion, my dear," Doge began, his tone polite, but giving nothing away, "but I wonder if you could explain its meaning?"

Asking Hermione Granger to explain a meaning was like asking Borage to brew you a potion or Snape to give you a detention, Harry thought, as she launched fearlessly into a long explanation of this new-to-them Muggle concept, and how it meant that Lucius would be out on license but if he committed any other crime in the five year period, the sentence would automatically be added to his new one.

"In a sense," Doge suggested, "it's allowing the defendant to show good faith, and work together with us as we rebuild our society after the ravages of the War – with a built-in punishment if he does not."

This suggestion seemed, rather begrudgingly, to be acceptable to the majority of the Wizengamot, and so a probation, like that for Draco, was instituted; but as his probation was of five years duration, it was agreed that, with certain spells and all dark magic explicitly prohibited, he would be allowed his wand from the start, while Draco would have to wait until Hogwarts resumed.

* * *

After the verdict, Lucius came up to Harry and shook his hand. But his face looked grim. He had schooled it to an impassive hardness, hiding the boiling pool of emotion that was inside him. He was about to attempt one of the hardest things he had ever done: he was going to try to beat the Debt of Magical Emancipation. No-one, he knew, had ever done it before; he suspected that in fact no-one had ever been foolish enough to attempt it. After all, how foolish was it to try to pull one over the man who had set him free from a – probably very short – life without magic?

But he felt he had to do something. Malfoys were not, would never be, slaves. He glossed over the little voice in his head that asked what he thought they had been under Voldemort, and spoke to Potter very quietly, making sure he was not overheard.

"Mr. Potter, thank you for your testimony on behalf of my family. But I feel that in the near future it would be better if we were not seen to be associated too closely. Accordingly, I must ask you not to continue to fraternize with my son."

Harry felt like his heart had just been ripped out. Not "fraternize" with Draco? When they were almost lovers?

And then it hit him, as anger rose through him: he had given Lucius his trust, and Lucius had played him like a maestro playing a violin. He had got exactly what he wanted – a clean slate, or as clean as they were going to achieve, for the Malfoys – and Harry was getting nothing.

An image came into his mind from his time living with the Dursleys, a memory of a Muggle game called tennis. If this were a tennis tournament, he thought, Lucius Malfoy would have won this set to love. But Harry was determined it would not be the match, as he apparated home with Ron and Hermione to Grimmauld Place to consider what to do next.

* * *

_**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**_

_The title is from a quotation: "The people when rightly and fully trusted will return the trust" – Abraham Lincoln. Shame about Lucius, though! But of course Lincoln meant the people in general, not everyone in particular._

_As ever, my grateful thanks to Bicky Monster for doing a sterling job as my beta. And to all who follow, favorite and review! I **love** reviews! (That's not a hint, OK? It's an instruction!)  
_

_**Ceti H Black: **Thanks, I do try to balance fluff and drama a bit. I did label this a romance, so I don't want to get too dark.  
_

_**Yume: **I tend to update twice a week; hope this is soon enough!  
_

_**aminaluvr4life**: Thanks! Especially for the "as usual". I hope I can live up to it! I try to find new twists, glad you liked it! _

_**MirrorFlower and DarkWind**: Now you don't have to wait!_

_**Cherrie-san**: please don't strangle people, it creates a lot of paperwork! Yes, the 'Expositor Falsitas' potion does indeed allow lying by omission; unlike Veritaserum, it doesn't force you to tell the truth, just prevent you from telling lies. And, by the way, you can't use both together; the ingredients fight one another. As for Lucius, not quite the response you are waiting for, perhaps; maybe next chapter!  
_


	16. Returning to Reason

**16. Returning to Reason**

_Friday, May 15 1998_

Harry had been so angry and frustrated after the trial that he had gone to bed early on Thursday night, but even so did not wake up until ten o'clock on Friday morning. He still felt tired and groggy; the only good points being that he didn't have a hangover, having gone to bed straight after an alcohol-free dinner, and he hadn't had a nightmare. But he would rather have had a hundred nightmares if Draco could be there; he missed the feel of the blond's arms, missed waking up with him next to him in the bed.

He decided he simply didn't feel like getting up. His reason told him that he would have to sooner or later, but that would mean having to face his anger at Lucius, his longing for Draco, and his complete failure to tell Ron and Hermione anything last night. It was so much easier to be completely unreasonable, stay in bed and ignore it all.

"Kreacher," he called.

The house-elf appeared with the usual loud pop. "How can Kreacher be helping Master Harry?"

"Could you bring me some tea and toast, please?"

"Of course, Master Harry!" said Kreacher happily as he disapparated away. A minute later there was another 'Pop!' and a tray with tea and toast on it appeared next to Harry. He wolfed them down, put the tray on his bedside table, and sank back into his bed.

* * *

At the Manor, Lucius Malfoy wasn't being any more reasonable. It did not help his temper at all to have returned exhausted after the trial to find that while the papers and exhibits that had been taken by the lawyers had been returned, they had just been dumped in the entry hall in an appalling mess. It was going to take days to restore the order he had built up over the years.

The only consolation he had was the thought that at least the Aurors had failed to find the secret chamber where the really incriminating books and dark objects were stored; but then, Malfoy magic had kept them safe from inquisitive eyes for thirteen hundred years, it was hardly surprising that these pathetic fools had not managed to find them.

Rather than face Narcissa and discuss things, he had got out of bed early and sought the sanctuary of his study, where he was now trying to restore some semblance of order to his scattered belongings. The mess and the thought of the work ahead of him made his head hurt; so he sat down in an armchair and demanded tea and toast from a house-elf while he gathered his thoughts.

It had been a lucky break with Potter yesterday. Lucius could feel he had been at the extreme edge of his control. If Harry had said anything, anything at all, Lucius would probably have broken down and confessed that the Debt almost certainly meant that they could never deny him anything. And then what? What would have become of him? How could he hold his head high in diplomatic circles if he was known to be Potter's puppet? And even worse, what would happen to Draco? That was the thought that kept him determined to beat the Debt: he had known slavery under an evil Lord, he would not see his son become Potter's slave. Or even worse, his whore.

He got up and paced up and down. Was Potter really like that? A terrified part of him insisted he was; but the rational part said no, he was only thinking so because Potter was a convenient scapegoat. All the Death Eaters had bad-mouthed the boy his whole life, and it was easier to keep thinking ill of him than to admit that they had been completely wrong about him. But the fact was becoming inescapable: the boy they had loved to sneer at had killed their Lord, and was fast becoming a force to be reckoned with in the wizarding world.

It was becoming harder and harder for Lucius to think ill of him. Even without the Debt, it was hard to be angry with a man who had certainly saved him from the Dementor's Kiss, and whose friend, surely for love of Harry, not Lucius, had saved him from Azkaban with that Muggle nonsense about "suspended sentences". He had a sneaking suspicion that half the Wizengamot had imagined him hanging from the ceiling by chains at this point; it would perhaps explain why they had taken so long to cotton on to a different meaning of "suspended" …

It went against all of his prejudices and upbringing: he had been saved from the wrath of the largely pure-blood Wizengamot through the words of the half-blood Harry Potter and the mud- - no, better stop using that word, the _Muggleborn_ Hermione Granger.

It was galling. It offended his pride and his reason. But nonetheless, it was the case. He would have to learn to live with it. He stopped pacing and sank back into his arm-chair. He decided he needed some fire-whiskey in his tea.

Live with it, yes. Like it, probably not.

* * *

There was a knock on the door.

"Harry!" Hermione called. "Are you getting up for lunch?"

But there was no answer. Harry didn't hear; he was fast asleep again.

* * *

Draco Malfoy had sat in his suite all day, completely pissed off with his father. They had been whisked home straight after the trial, with no opportunity for him to talk to Harry; and the moment they had arrived back at the Manor, Lucius had closed the Floo and insisted that Draco have nothing to do with Potter for at least the next week.

_How dare he?!_ He ranted to himself. And the worst of it was, with no wand, there was no chance of disobeying his father. Even sending an owl was denied him; Lucius had obviously thought of that because as the house-elves had put it in their usual ridiculous way, "oh, no, no, young Master Draco may not be wanting to use the owls now." Then, of course, they had started punishing themselves for disobeying him. _So they should, _he had thought viciously; it was only because he knew Harry wouldn't want them to that he had commanded them to stop.

Obviously his father thought that being apart for a week would cool them down or something. What had he said while they were in the holding cell? That the bond would weaken if he and Harry were apart? Draco was determined to prove him wrong. Or, even if the bond weakened, he was determined that his resolve would not. He just hoped that Harry would understand; that their feelings for each other could last …

* * *

Ron and Hermione were getting worried. They hadn't seen Harry all day; it wasn't like him to not get up at all. What exactly had Lucius Malfoy said after the trial? Harry had refused point-blank to discuss it last night, which made Hermione think it must be something really awful.

Ron hammered on the door.

"OI! You getting up at all today, mate? It's nearly dinner time!" he shouted.

"Murr – gnarr – frrrr – what?" came a muffled voice from inside as Harry slowly came back to consciousness.

"It's nearly dinner time! Are you coming out?" Hermione shouted.

Harry thought about it. But if he came out and had dinner, they were sure to want to know what Lucius had said. And he just wasn't ready to discuss it. He was still too angry, and too hurt; and he had a horrible feeling that they would not take it well at all.

"I don't think so," he said back, "see you tomorrow, all right?"

And then he rolled over and went back to sleep.

* * *

_Saturday, May 16 1998_

Harry woke soon after eight o'clock, feeling less sorry for himself and more than a little ashamed for abandoning his friends the previous day. He decided he had to make an effort, so got up, washed, dressed, and went to sit in the library. Pigwidgeon was sitting on a perch Ron had found him; he had taken up residence there while Ron was staying at Grimmauld Place. Harry found him some treats, which the tiny owl accepted happily.

A little while later, Kreacher appeared. He took one look at his master and went away, coming back just a few minutes later with a bacon sandwich and a large mug of steaming-hot tea.

Harry looked up, enticed by the delicious smell of bacon. He hadn't asked for this; but how could he refuse?

"Thank you, Kreacher, just set them on the coffee-table please."

Kreacher did, and vanished.

Five minutes later, Hermione entered. She was pleased to see that Harry was up and about, and more so to see he had eaten half the sandwich. A small smile played on her lips, but she decided she wasn't going to coddle Harry in his misery. He deserved better than that.

"Are you going to eat the rest of that?" she asked, belligerently.

He looked up, surprised at her tone. "Why, do you want it?"

"No," she said, with a smile at the thought, "though I bet Ron wouldn't say no."

"Wouldn't say no to what?" said Ron, coming in as if on cue. Then he spotted the sandwich. "Ooh, if you don't want that, can I have it?"

Harry laughed. What else could he do? He made a decision. There was no point in moping around in self-pity; he had to get on, make a plan, and sort things out.

"No, you jolly well can't," he answered. "If you want one, go and make it yourself." And saying this, he picked up the remaining half of the sandwich. To his surprise, he found he was actually quite hungry, and it disappeared very quickly.

Ron sat down grumpily, apparently miffed to have missed out food. Hermione, however, sat with a secret smile. Now that she had stirred Harry up, perhaps they might get some answers out of him…

But in fact it was Harry who got in first. He decided he would break down if they talked about Draco, so took the chance to steer the conversation onto less emotional ground. "So, Hermione," he said, as he finished his sandwich and licked his fingers, "have you found out anything more about Haussmann Shields or Debts of Magical Whatsit?"

"That's 'Magical Emancipation', but I suspect you knew that perfectly well," she replied, having noticed the faint grin he had asked with. "Frankly, there's not a lot of material that isn't heavily classified. Even with Kingsley's help, I only found about three books that were really any use."

"Kingsley's help?" Harry said. "Hang on, he's had escaping Death Eaters, Wizengamot trials, babysitting me and he's helped you find material? Does the man never sleep?"

"Apparently not," answered Hermione. "His secretary was complaining about something similar to me. However, all he did for me in fact was sign permissions; the actual work was done by the Ministry librarian, and Madam Pince at Hogwarts. Oh and of course Ron was very helpful fetching books and so on."

"All right, Hermione," said Ron, who was fit to burst by this time. "But for Merlin's sake, never mind who found things for you, what did you find?"

"Oh, right. Well, as you know, Haussmann Shields are very rare, and generally only work with very closely linked people – married or similar."

"Yeah, I get that," said Harry. "Though Draco and I aren't."

"But you are friends, right?" said Ron, in a voice that suggested this was still something of a seismic shift in the Universe as far as he was concerned. "Is that enough, Hermione?"

"If you want to hear what I learnt, you'd do better not to interrupt," she said, sniffily. "And the answer seems to be, no-one knows. The books are very old and not very clear. But I think what they are saying is that the Debt creates a linkage of its own, which is strong enough for the Shield."

"That makes sense," Harry said, thoughtfully. "After all, Lucius told me that the Debt is stronger than a Life Debt, it seems logical that it implies a closeness between the two people…"

Ron looked puzzled, and asked the same question as Harry had days ago: "How can anything be stronger than a Life Debt?" he asked.

"Draco told me that," Harry replied. "It's because of honour. He said you can die with honour; but you can't live without magic with honour."

"He would say that; that's typical pure-blood thinking," Ron concurred.

"ANYWAY," said Hermione, and Harry hid his smirk at having got under her skin, "the Shield can be temporary or endurant, and yours is obviously endurant since it was still there five days after the first time it appeared."

"Does that mean it will always be there?"

"Hmm. Good question. The books were a bit vague about that. There was something I couldn't quite follow about something else, some extra ingredient called a 'mordant'. It seems something extra is needed to make the Shield permanent, but it wasn't at all clear what it was."

"All right," said Harry, deciding to summarize. "So, we know the Shield protects Draco and me when we are together. Do we have to be together?"

"I think so; but that wasn't clear," Hermione admitted.

"Alright." Harry continued. "We know it's quite strong: it deflected the Sectumsempra curse. We know it's endurant, but we don't know how long it will last. We think it's probably based on the Debt between Draco and me, rather than being partners. Though we have become close friends over the last ten days …"

Ron shuddered at this. Harry ignored him.

"And that's about it for the Shield," he continued.

"Hang on," Ron asked, "what about the colours? Do you think they're important?"

"That was one of the strange things," Hermione said. "The books didn't say anything about the Shield being coloured, or even visible."

"Hmm." Harry mused. "So, we'll have to put that in the 'more research needed' column. Now, the Debt. It's stronger than a Life Debt and it's very important to pure-bloods. Draco told me that if a Debt becomes established, which ours now is, there are certain consequences that are permanent."

"What sort of consequences?" Hermione asked, her interest piqued.

"Um… He didn't say, really, only something about being in my power" said Harry, blushing as he remembered exactly why they hadn't spoken any more. "Oh, hang on, Lucius did say something else: apparently, every wizard who loses his magic goes mad and kills himself."

"Phew," exclaimed Ron. "You mean what you did actually saved their lives as well? Blimey!"

"I did find out a bit more, Harry," Hermione chipped in. "Possibly the 'consequences' Draco was talking about – from what I gather they won't be able to actually deceive you, and they have a duty to protect you. But again, the books were rather sketchy on detail."

"What about the bond?" Ron asked. "Dad did say that all the cases of the Shield he'd heard of ended up with the participants being bonded."

"Um," Harry demurred, not quite sure he wanted to talk about his love life. He'd managed to keep his emotions in check, could he keep doing so? But then, he decided, they were his best friends and had done all this research for him; the least he could do was to be honest with them. "Well, Draco said that he wants to be with me – and I've been missing him a lot, even since Wednesday; so I guess maybe we are being pulled together." Deciding that was quite enough candour, and closer to tears than he liked, he burted out, "but I don't like the thought that I'm forcing him into something; that we're being forced into something."

Hermione looked at him kindly. "Harry, I don't believe that. You've had a thing for each other since you met – it's just expressed itself as rivalry and bickering because you couldn't be friends. Now that's gone, I think you're just finding a new relationship, one that hopefully will be a lot more pleasant …"

Harry was extraordinarily grateful to her for saying this, and the emotion started to rise again. The simple love and affection pouring out from her overwhelmed him, and he pulled her to him in a hug to stop himself from bursting into tears.

"Thanks, Hermione," he said. "I needed to hear that."

"Right," said Ron. "Any chance of some food?"

* * *

Narcissa Malfoy was getting fed up with her husband. His childish behaviour was hurting Draco very badly, and she decided it had to stop. So, for the first time in her married life, she plucked up the courage to knock angrily on his study door.

To her surprise, rather than just yelling "come in!", he opened the door himself. One look at his face and all her anger evaporated. She had assumed he was avoiding them because he was being a stroppy so-and-so but now she knew the truth: he was hurting. She had never seen him look so anguished, so uncertain, so fearful.

Without a word, he drew her into his arms, into the room, and shut the door behind them. They stood clasped together for a long time.

* * *

After a very long and late breakfast, which didn't finish till after lunchtime, Harry declared that they'd done enough talking for one day and he wanted to get out of the house. In truth, he still wasn't ready to discuss what Lucius had said to him, and until he was, he feared that talking to them would just rile everybody up and they'd all get angry to no purpose.

Ron and Hermione accepted this, and suggested they all go to the Burrow to see what Gin was up to. Privately, they both knew that Harry was stalling; but they knew their friend, he would share what was really on his mind when he was ready, and forcing him generally did no good.

When they reached the Burrow, they found the twins there. After a heavy week of trading, this Saturday was, unusually, a rather slow day at the shop; Seamus had turned up, and they'd decided that he and Neville could handle things on their own, so they'd come to the Burrow to see what Gin was doing. They found her and Robin Banks having morning tea together, so the four of them had started an odd version of Quidditch which seemed to involve the twins trying to stop Gin from getting the snitch, and Gin and Robin trying to thump the twins.

Ron and Harry grabbed two spare brooms, and joined in the fun. The game quickly deteriorated into a schoolyard fight: the twins took great delight in sending bludgers at Ron, who proved surprisingly adept at dodging them, and managed to get his own back after about an hour of playing when George wasn't quick enough to evade one that Ron had enticed to curve around him.

George, winded, came down and went into the house while the other five kept flying. He found Hermione helping Molly prepare dinner; which, of course, really meant that Molly was getting food ready while filling Hermione with tea and chatting away merrily. George wondered how it was that women always found something to chat about.

He sat next to them and a cup of tea levitated over to him, sent by Molly.

"Thanks, Mum," he said, happily drinking the strong brew. "How's he doing?" he asked Hermione. There was no need to say who 'he' was.

"Not well," she replied bluntly. "He hasn't told us what Lucius said yet, but it must have been pretty awful; he spent all of yesterday in bed, and managed to avoid the subject all morning. We talked about Haussmann Shields and Debts of Magical Emancipation instead."

"Ooh," said Molly, "what have you learnt?"

Hermione repeated the conclusions of the morning, including, to George's amusement, Harry's rather unguarded comments about his relationship with Draco Malfoy. Not that Harry had said much; but George had always been good at reading between the lines, and he could tell Harry was smitten. _And he_ _probably hasn't even worked it out himself yet, poor bugger, _he thought.

* * *

The Quidditch match lasted until dark, and then Molly called them all in. Clearly, Saturday night was family dinner night: Bill and Fleur came over, and Arthur, who had been working an extra day at the Ministry to keep abreast of all the trial developments, came home from the Ministry, bringing Percy with him.

Arthur beamed when he saw Harry was there. "Ah, I'm glad you're here," he said, shaking his adopted son's hand rather vigorously, "the Minister is very concerned about you. Mind you, we're all very grateful for your testimonies during the trials – the Wizengamot had a special session today, and they are framing a new official code of procedure, which is to be called the Potter Code."

"Ooh, fame at last," George said, mockingly.

"Yeah, hooray," Harry replied. "At last, people won't be saying 'Harry Who?' to me any more."

"But 'Arry," Fleur said, looking confused, "everybody knows 'oo you are?"

This made most of them roar with laughter. Bill checked himself, a bit embarrased at having laughed at his wife's bewilderment, and quietly explained to Fleur that Harry was making a peculiarly English sort of joke, and that they weren't really laughing at her, just that the way she'd said it worked particularly well.

"You mustn't mind us, dear," Molly said, coming over to her, "but you know how the twins are and I'm afraid Harry seems to be developing the same silly sense of humour."

Fleur smiled at them. She was privately delighted to have been part cause of the merriment; her own family was always rather serious, and she adored the fact that conversations at the Weasleys veered from serious to comic and back to serious all the time. Even when she didn't understand the lightning-fast banter, she could feel that they really loved one another, and fully accepted her into the family too.

"It's quite all right, Molly, it's lovely to 'ear such 'appy people," she reassured her mother-in-law, then pulled Bill to her side in a loving embrace.

Molly smiled at her, delighted to see her at such ease in what was still a strange house for her.

"Well," she declared, "I believe dinner is ready."

* * *

They sat stony-faced at the dinner table. Draco was still very angry with his father, and so returned his silence, refusing even to look at him. Once the main course had been cleared, Narcissa decided she had to do **something**; the silence was becoming acutely painful. It simply Would Not Do.

But what to do? "My love…" she began. Both men looked at her; and then she saw her way forward. "You see? You are both my loves. And you both love me. And you are hurting each other very badly, and it is hurting me. So please, for your sakes, for my sake, go into the library and sort this thing out between you!"

They sat there, stunned. Narcissa had started quietly, but ended up yelling at them. With all the force of character that came from being born into the Black family, she continued:

"Go on!" she said. "Shoo!"

Rather shame-facedly, they got up and went to the library together.

* * *

_Sunday, May 17 1998_

Harry woke up and wondered where he was for a minute.

"Morning, sleepy-head," a familiar voice called out, and he sat up in bed and looked round. It all came back to him in a rush: he had slept in Ron's room at the Burrow. Bill and Fleur had left early, but dinner had lasted till very late for the rest of them, and Molly had pointed out that there was no need for them to go Flooing around the countryside at horrible hours of the morning when there were perfectly serviceable beds at their disposal right there. They hadn't taken much convincing; after all the exercise of the mock-Quidditch game earlier, they were very happy to just roll into beds at the Burrow and fall asleep.

"Morning," he replied to the rather-too-cheerful redhead sitting on his bed opposite. "What's the plan for today?"

"George and Fred have gone back to the shop; they've suggested we meet them in the Leaky for lunch. Hermione and I want to go to Diagon Alley anyway; there are some things we want to start getting organized. And I'm betting you're not ready to talk about what's going on between you and the Malfoys, so I reckon you should come with us, or Mum will be pumping you for information."

"It's a deal. I suppose I have to get up and dressed then?"

"Yeah, works for me," Ron said with a wink. "See you at the breakfast table then. Come quick or go hungry!"

Harry knew the words were just playful, there was never any danger of going hungry at the Burrow; but the memories of starvation at the Dursleys' got stirred up as always at even the thought of missing food, and Harry had a very quick – even for him – shower, cast a Scourgify on his clothes, decided that would do, and made his way downstairs.

"Blimey!" said Ron, munching his way through a stack of pancakes. "That was quick!"

"I wasn't going to miss out on Molly's pancakes!" he said, which earnt him a big smile from Mrs. Weasley as she carefully levitated a large stack of pancakes in front of him. It was easily enough for two people by his reckoning, but he could see that in fact his stack wasn't quite as large as Ron's; perhaps Molly had clocked that he might be an honorary Weasley but he didn't have the Weasley appetite.

He proceeded to drown a pancake in maple syrup, just how he liked them, and had got half of it down him when a cup of tea was levitated over to him, with the honey-pot following. It was just as hilarious as last time, and he broke into giggles as he watched the graceful ballet of the honey seeming to pour itself into his tea.

As he giggled, he felt some of the angst and emotional turmoil of the last two days begin to melt away. He was going to be all right. He could face this; and he had the Weasleys and Hermione with him, helping him, being there for him, giving him space to be himself, and courage to come back to reason.

He loved the Weasleys so much.

* * *

Draco rolled out of bed. It was nearly lunch-time; he never got up early on a Sunday if he could help it. He was feeling a lot happier after his chat with his father; he now understood that much of what his father had done had been for his sake. He still didn't agree with him: Harry wasn't a danger or a monster; he wasn't going to turn Draco into his slave or his whore. Merlin, Harry had said they were 'almost-lovers' and Draco had a sneaking suspicion that if they weren't actually lovers yet, it wouldn't take long. If, that is, well-meaning parents didn't keep trying to derail them.

He smiled to himself. His father might be making a complete hash of things, but Lucius did actually love him. Even if he didn't have a clue how to show it. They'd have to work on that; but at least they were now both willing to. He felt that a huge burden had lifted from him, one he hadn't even known was there.

* * *

Lunch was a whole new experience. For the first time in days they chatted to one another politely, discussing the weather, latest fashions, and what subjects Draco might be studying when he went back to Hogwarts.

Lucius proved to be surprisingly well-informed on the last subject. Apparently while in the holding cells he had used the ready source of information that the Aurors guarding him provided. He told them that the idea was that most students would be required to repeat their year in the normal school year, the thinking being that education under the Carrows had been poor to non-existent; but to avoid a gap of a whole year before students could graduate, the returning final-year students – the "eighth-years" as they would be known – would start in July and finish in January or February, with the seventh-years finishing the following June as normal.

But of course in order to decide what to study, Draco had to think about what he would do. His heart had been set on becoming a Potions Master; he still wanted it, but he would need to be apprenticed to a master; as a former Death Eater now on probation, who would want him?

_Harry, _he thought._ Harry wants me. _Until that very moment, he couldn't have said he was certain of it; some of Harry's doubts about what was him and what was the Debt or the Bond had got to him; but now he pushed those thoughts aside. Harry wanted him, and his family were behaving like reasonable human beings again; somehow they would get through life together.

He smiled as he passed his mother the carrots.

* * *

_**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** As always, grateful thanks to my beta, Bicky Monster, for another wonderful job.  
_

_Welcome to all who now follow - it's lovely to see people wanting to read my story. Thank you to those who favorite; and reviews! Love 'em! More, please!_

_**MirrorFlower and DarkWind**: You can't kill Lucius, I need him!_

_**Belldandy55555** : you're absolutely right, Narcissa and Draco are definitely on Harry's side. Lucius is fighting his own demons, though, and it looks like he might be winning; don't give up on him yet!  
_

_**sotroublesome33**: Welcome! Hope you liked this chapter too!_

_**PyroFyre1214**: Purrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr ..._

_**Yume**: You're a bit of a slave-driver! Hope this is soon enough!  
_

_**lovergirl101**: You ask an interesting question: what does everyone think? If this story goes MPREG, who would carry the child? (I know what I think, but I'd be interested to know what my readers do!)  
_

_**aminaluvr4life:** Hope you liked this chapter too!_


	17. To Return Those Hidden Away

**17. To Return Those Hidden Away**

_**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **__I don't really believe J K Rowling's exchange rate of 1 galleon ˜ £5; that would value the twin's shop and starting stock at about £5,000 which seems ridiculously small, even though prices in the Wizarding world are probably quite different to the Muggle one. So I'm using a rate of 1 galleon ˜ £25, which values a knut at about 5p and a sickle at £1-47. _

* * *

_Monday, May 18 1998_

Harry had spent most of the Sunday at the shop, so it was not until breakfast on Monday that he learnt what Ron had been talking about when he had said that he and Hermione had something to organize: they were planning a trip to Australia to bring Hermione's parents back to England.

Ron had taken quite a while to get it out; apparently he had been very worried that Harry would think they were abandoning him. Harry, for his part, was embarrassed to think that if he'd been more sensible and not hidden away in his bedroom, he could have been part of the planning.

"I'm really sorry, guys, I should have been around to help," he started.

"You're apologizing again, Harry," Hermione said, in a warning tone. "We've told you about that. Not your fault. And you do have a lot on your mind, even if you won't talk to us about it."

"I'm sor—" he began, but she cut him off again.

"No you don't! You discuss it when you're ready, and not before. Now, what do you think of our idea?" she asked, a playful, teasing tone coming into her voice. "After all, we're planning to abandon you for nearly four weeks; do you think you can cope without us?"

"I think it's great, guys," he said, with entirely real enthusiasm. "I really think you should go, you'll have a great time. And don't worry about me; you know perfectly well Molly'll be on my case the whole time you're away. Your parents deserve to remember you, Hermione," for she had modified their memories; they currently believed they were Wendell and Monica Wilkins, a childless couple who had moved to Australia for the climate, "and you deserve to have them around you." There was a very short pause before he added, "How can I help?"

Ron looked very embarrassed to be asked this question. "There is one really big thing you could do, mate," he answered. "We hesitate to ask, but as you know, we haven't much money and we were hoping to use the Muggle airyplanes to get there and back …"

Harry got it instantly. They wanted to borrow money off him for the airfares. He thought about that for all of half a second before making the obvious and simple decision.

No chance.

"No way am I lending you two any money, mate," he replied, and their faces fell. "No, I'm giving you your Christmas present five months late – how about two tickets to Australia?"

Ron didn't like it, but Hermione's face shone, so he swallowed his pride and accepted the offer. They spent the rest of the day plotting and planning the trip. They had a trip to Diagon Alley where Harry visited Gringotts and extracted two hundred galleons which he converted into Muggle money. Hermione's research said that the resulting nearly five thousand pounds would well and truly cover the tickets, including single tickets for the Grangers to come back with; and Harry insisted they were to have anything left over as well.

There was a bit of a stumbling block when they discovered that they needed passports and visas, and that these would take weeks to get. They had hoped to fly out as soon as possible: they needed to be back in good time for the school term, which made for tight timing as school was starting early this year, at the beginning of July rather than September.

They had been rather down the whole afternoon, as it looked like they weren't going to have time for their plan to work now. So when Ron suggested they go to the Burrow for dinner, Harry agreed – he decided that it wasn't the night to sit all maudlin together by themselves at Grimmauld Place; the Weasleys would want to know what was bugging them.

The conversation around the table began with Arthur asking them if they had any plans for the next month.

"Headmistress McGonagall has asked for as much help as we can give her getting Hogwarts Castle back into service," he informed them.

Ginny perked up at this, but her father looked at her apologetically.

"Sorry, Gin, they only want witches and wizard who are of age. So, you three, how about it?" he asked Harry, Ron and Hermione.

"I'd love to help," Harry answered, enthusiastically, "but I think Ron and Hermione have other plans…"

"I was hoping to go to Australia and bring back my parents," Hermione said, sorrowfully. "It seems the least I could do, since they're only there because I made them go, to keep them safe while Voldemort was around."

"That sounds wonderful," Ginny replied, "but why do you sound so sad?"

"We wanted to travel on a Muggle airyplane," Ron said. "But it's complicated because we have to have some Muggle paperwork – passports and vizals or something."

"Visas," Hermione corrected him. "And they take weeks to get! It'll be term-time before we can go!"

"Well I think it's a wonderful idea, of course you must bring them back," Molly said. "But this visa business sounds silly." She turned to her husband. "Isn't there something you can do?" she asked.

Arthur smiled. "Of course. Come to the Ministry at nine o'clock tomorrow morning, I'm sure we can sort things out. We wizards have never understood what takes the Muggles so long, so we have our own procedures. There won't be any problem. Pass the gravy please, Gin."

There were, apparently, some perks of having your father be the Deputy Minister for Magic!

* * *

Draco had really wanted to visit Diagon Alley, but Lucius was still convinced that meeting Harry was a very bad idea, and there was a much lesser chance of it happening here in Hogsmeade than there. After all, he argued, Potter's visits to that Wheezes place were notorious and well-documented in the Prophet, as was his penchant for eating obscene amounts of Fortescue's ice-cream.

So here they were in the Scottish Wizarding village. Lucius had opened the Floo again, and the Aurors had given permission for them to travel to Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley whenever they liked; it irked Draco that they had had to ask, but such were the terms of their probations. At least they were out of the house, which made Draco feel a hundred times better, even if they did have to wear glamours to make sure they weren't recognized and attacked.

Draco had even been allowed to send owls again; Lucius had asked him not to contact Harry yet, and he had reluctantly agreed, happy that at least his father was prepared to trust him not to. He had used his new freedom to owl Blaise to set up a meeting in the Three Broomsticks at eleven. He hadn't talked to Blaise for too long; it was like he'd been hidden away. He felt he'd been in a sort of darkness, not seeing anyone much; he wanted to come back into light again.

Reveling in their freedom, the three Malfoys had come to the village at nine o'clock, and started their visit by walking around for an hour before entering the Hog's Head where they had had bread and cheese with some butterbeer. It wasn't at all their sort of food; but somehow that added to the feeling of freedom, and they actually managed to chat with some gaiety. There was a strange new Muggle game called 'darts' being played in the pub; Draco couldn't remember such a thing ever happening ever before; obviously people were feeling much freer now that the threat of attack from the Dark Lord was gone. It struck him again how much Voldemort had cost them: even such simple and innocent pleasures had been forgone; people had kept quiet, kept themselves to themselves; until now.

They were drawn into the game, and Draco was surprised to discover that his father was a very good darts player. So, in fact, was Lucius; but he laughed it off as 'beginner's luck'. Someone accused of charming the darts; but Aberforth Dumbledore, the landlord, told him off:

"Now Blad, I told you, the darts had been charmed against magic; and it's not sporting to accuse strangers of cheating with no evidence."

Blad immediately apologized very handsomely to Lucius, and insisted on buying him another pint. They stayed in the Hog's Head until nearly eleven, finding themselves generally welcomed by the company; it made an incredible contrast with before the war.

As Draco was meeting Blaise at eleven, his parents went over to Tomes and Scrolls to browse the bookshop. As they were leaving, Aberforth drew Draco aside.

"I know who you are," he said, in a low voice, "and I'm guessing that most of what's said about you is lies; but watch your step. The glamours are a good idea, but they can be seen through by people who are looking. You want to watch getting too friendly with folk just yet; if Blad knew who he'd been playing at darts I reckon he'd have slit your father's throat before buying him a drink."

Draco was rather shaken by this, but thanked Aberforth for the hint, and for not throwing them out as soon as he recognized them.

"Nah, wouldn't do that. Like I said, no accusing without evidence. Anyway, my brother had a bit of a soft spot for you, reckoned you had it tough being surrounded by that lot; least I can do is look out for you a bit."

If he'd been shaken before, Draco was stunned now. Albus Dumbledore had had a soft spot for him? He'd certainly hidden it well! But then, he had offered Draco forgiveness and sanctuary just before Snape had killed him …

By the time Draco got to the Three Broomsticks, Blaise was already seated in a quiet corner by himself. He was a bit surprised when an apparent total stranger plonked a Butterbeer in front of him. But when he looked closely, he recognized Draco, and relaxed a bit.

"I'm glad you had the sense to use a glamour," he said, softly. "Your family is not exactly flavour of the month, you know."

"It's lovely to see you too, Blaise," Draco said, "and no, I didn't know, because we've been cooped up at the Manor since the Battle of Hogwarts, then the Ministry cells, and then the Manor again since the trial. I haven't seen a Prophet since the Battle and this is the first time I've been out since the trial; I've been cooped up with my parents and sometimes some Aurors, though they come and go now that we're on probation rather than house arrest. I'm going crazy!"

Blaise looked at him closely for a few moments. He must have found whatever he was looking for, because he exhaled and relaxed a bit.

"OK. So there's been a whole lot of shite in the Prophet about your trials. It started last Monday with a hideous photo of you and they made it very plain they were expecting you to get a long sentence in Azkaban; the front page asked something about 'How long will they spend in Azkaban?' and 'Will they be Kissed by a Dementor?'"

"Nice," said Draco. The press had been nice enough when the Malfoy name had been powerful, but clearly they had no loyalty. Or rather, he thought darkly, they were loyal to winners. He had to get used to a world in which they were losers. The idea hurt, badly.

"Yes, so you can imagine that they were not very pleased after Tuesday's verdicts. There was a rumour going around that Potter went to the Manor with you for dinner, but it didn't get printed – I think the Ministry pressed on them pretty heavily. Wednesday's Prophet just had a whole load of guff about you having received leniency to help rebuild the world and that you would be expected to step up and show the wizarding world that purebloods still have a role to play, you can imagine the sort of thing. Oh, and of course Potter was the knight in shining armour who rode in and saved your sorry arse again."

Draco snorted at this. "They didn't say that, surely?"

"No, I was just reading between the lines. Anyway, I'm glad you got off as lightly as you did. You didn't deserve to go to Azkaban, whatever they said. And the plans for 'Eighth Year' are all official now; I received an owl from Hogwarts this morning."

"Oh," said Draco. He had not received one, but they had been out early. "Will you be going?"

"I think so. You have to, right?"

"Yes, it's part of my probation."

"OK, well I will then. Like I said, you're not liked any more. You're going to need all the friends you can get."

"Thanks," Draco said, humbly. He was touched that Blaise still openly identified himself as Draco's friend. But the topic was a little too painful for further conversation, so he picked up on something Blaise had said before. "As it happens, Harry did come to dinner …"

Blaise did not miss the use of the first name. "'Harry'?" he asked. "So, are the rumours of something between you two true? They can't be, surely, that really would be all over The Prophet!"

"Um, well, it's complicated. You have to keep this quiet, Blaise, because you're right, if they find out, it'll be on the front page for a week, but the Dark Lord had a last trick which would have killed father and me, and Harry saved us from it. Since then, yes, we have been getting closer." He wanted to know more, so continued: "And what did they say about father's trial?"

"Well, they were still a bit – what's the word? Ah, circum-something, I think …"

"Circumspect," Draco supplied. Blaise spoke extraordinarily good English for an Italian, but every now and then a complicated word would elude him. Draco had always just come out with them, and Blaise had always seemed very happy to be helped.

"Yes, that's it. They obviously thought he should have been Kissed; and then he got off altogether."

"There are conditions, you know."

"Oh yes," Blaise said, waving them aside. "But he's not dead, or Kissed, or in Azkaban; a few conditions aren't going to slow him down very much. And the Prophet obviously hated it, but weren't game to say so; that's 'circumspect', right?"

"Right," Draco confirmed.

"OK. So, the editorial was all about the 'extraordinary generosity of our esteemed Wizengamot' and 'society will be watching Lucius Malfoy to see if he deserves the trust that has been placed in him'."

"Meaning he didn't get justice and doesn't deserve the trust," Draco surmised.

"Yes, that was obviously what they meant. Since then, there's been very little about you. Potter – Harry, as you call him – was seen in Diagon Alley yesterday, at that silly shop; there was some guff this morning about 'our Saviour taking a well-earned break from his cares and playing with his good friends, the Weasley twins'. But they didn't say anything about you."

"I'm not surprised," Draco said, a touch of bitterness coming into his voice. "We haven't seen him at all since the trials. Father said something to him after his – warned him off, somehow."

Blaise looked very surprised. "Why would he do that? What do you have to fear from Potter?"

Draco looked at him. _Should I tell him?_ He wondered. But Blaise had said he was Draco's friend; what sort of friend would Draco be, if he didn't trust him?

"To answer that, I'm going to have to explain more about what Harry did at the Battle. You were there at the Memorial Service, right? You saw the Shield?"

"That funny coloured thing around you and Potter? Yeah, I saw it. And I saw Theo Nott with his arm sliced off. He came up before the Wizengamot on Friday for that attack, by the way. He got sentenced to Azkaban for ten years. Apparently attacking the Destroyer of Voldemort under the noses of four Aurors is not a good idea."

"Who knew?" Draco replied, ironically. "Bastard deserved it; he wasn't attacking Harry, he was attacking me, though Harry would have got hurt as well. OK, so that 'funny coloured thing' is called a 'Haussmann Shield'. Did the Prophet say anything about that, by the way?"

"Nothing very interesting. They made it sound like Nott was attacking Potter, and you were just in the way, and Potter cast a shield that saved you as well as him."

"Harry did cast a Protego, but the Shield is something else. It's a very old and very powerful piece of magic. Before he died, the Dark Lord had cursed father and me so that if we rebelled against him, our magic would get locked up. Harry gave me my wand back after the battle, but I couldn't use it because of the curse. Harry was so incensed by this that he did some incredible piece of magic that broke the Dark Lord's curse entirely, and created something called a Debt of Magical Emancipation."

Blaise had never heard of this, of course, and his face said so; but he was a Slytherin, so he could imagine it was not good. "A debt, eh? A strong one?"

"The very strongest."

"Stronger than a Life Debt?" Blaise asked, aghast.

"Stronger than a Life Debt," Draco confirmed. "We owe Potter our magic as well as our lives. We're still trying to work out what it means, but we can't lie to him or hurt him, or not tell him something he should know, or not do something that would avoid him harm."

Blaise whistled softly. "I can see why that would scare your father. What has that to do with this Shield?"

"A Haussmann Shield basically can only be constructed on a very deep relationship, such as marriage. Apparently, the Debt counts. And the Shield sort of proves the extent of the Debt, so it's a package deal. Father thinks that it draws us together, so I'm coming under Harry's control. He's worried that I'll wind up as Harry's slave, forced to do whatever he wants."

"And what do you think?" Blaise asked, his voice full of concern, for which Draco was more grateful than he could have said.

"You mustn't tell any of this, OK?" Draco replied. Blaise nodded. "OK, you know I've had a thing for Harry for a long time."

Blaise smiled. He had twitted Draco about this for years; at last his friend seemed to have accepted it.

"I don't know if it's the Debt or not, but that feeling is getting stronger every time we meet. And he has something for me, too. But it's not slavery, Blaise; Harry Potter is not Lord Voldemort!"

"True," Blaise acknowledged. "No, he is noble, that one. I can see that if he got together with you, he could never be a Master like Voldemort was. And you think that is happening?"

"I hope so!" Draco answered, with shining eyes.

Blaise was content to hear this. He could see that if the Debt was behind this, there was nothing to be done; but he could also see that, Potter being Potter, there was no need to be concerned. And he would be there for Draco to make sure his friend ended up all right. He was delighted that Draco had come out of the seclusion he had been in involuntarily; he made a promise to himself not to let Draco hide away again.

They turned to discuss other matters; Blaise regaled stories of his mother's latest husband – her ninth. Draco was amazed that people wanted to marry her, even though she was still stunningly beautiful, she had buried eight husbands; marrying her was not especially promising for longevity …

* * *

_Tuesday, May 19 1998_

Ron and Hermione left the Ministry at ten o'clock armed with passports and visas; by midday they were the proud possessors of airline tickets to Australia, departing London Heathrow on Sunday. They were going to be there for four weeks, which would mean they would get back to Britain with just over a week to spare before the beginning of Eighth Year.

Hermione was beside herself with excitement. She insisted on going to Diagon Alley to buy them new clothes for the trip; at which point, Harry, who had very happily accompanied them to the Ministry and the Travel Agent's office decided that he'd had enough, and went to the shop, planning to Floo-call Headmistress McGonagall and discuss helping at Hogwarts.

Ron begged Harry not to leave him shopping alone with Hermione; but Harry just laughed.

"She's your girlfriend, mate, it's your duty to be dragged round all the shops she can find," he said, and left with very little compunction.

As Harry had prophesied, Hermione proceeded to drag Ron around half a dozen shops; which was largely a waste of time as they didn't really know what they wanted anyway, so came away with very few purchases.

They went to pick up Harry from the shop, and discovered that he had gone on to Hogwarts; McGonagall had been delighted with his offer of help, and taken him up on it straight away. So the two of them decided to have lunch together. Ron suggested that they might even go and find a Muggle café to eat in, just for a change from the usual Magical venues. Hermione loved the idea, so half an hour later they were sitting in a small Muggle restaurant around the corner from the British Museum. Ron discreetly cast a Muffliato over them so that their conversation would not be overheard.

"Thank you for letting me take you shopping," Hermione said.

"Yeah, well, I wouldn't do it for anyone else, you know that, right?"

Hermione smiled. But there was no answer to that. "So, we're really going!"

"Yep." Ron agreed. He couldn't remember seeing Hermione more excited. "And we'll bring them back, Hermione. Just think, I'll have some in-laws!"

"Do you really want that?" Hermione asked him, a little jokingly.

"Oh yes," he replied, quite seriously. "I'm not about to hide away from them, and we can't keep them hidden away either. We need to forge stronger ties with the Muggles, after all; how perfect is having some in the family of the Deputy Minister?"

At this point their lunch arrived. Hermione continued, "Harry seems to be taking it well. Do you think he'll be alright?"

"Course he will." Ron said, a little derisively. Harry was a bloke, he didn't need worrying about. "Anyway, like he said, he's got Mum to look after him, and now he's helping at Hogwarts you can bet the staff there will be keeping a good eye on him."

"I suppose so," Hermione agreed, a trifle reluctantly. "But I worry about him and Malfoy."

"Yeah, that's a bit strange, isn't it? But I reckon they are actually falling for each other – at the Memorial, Malfoy did look scared for Harry as well as himself."

Hermione was a bit stunned at this. "How can you tell that?"

"Hey, I've watched Malfoy too, you know. 'Know your enemy' and all that. He just had more on his face than his usual selfish-git look. He does care, I'm sure of it."

Hermione wasn't convinced; but then, they were both blokes, perhaps Ron would pick something like that up. And he had spoken to Malfoy at the Manor; he'd told her before that there was something there. Ron Weasley wasn't the insensitive oik most people took him for.

"All right," she said. "What do you think the thing with Lucius is about?"

"I reckon he must have told Harry to leave them alone."

"But why?"

"He's shit-scared about the Debt, Hermione. He's used to the Dark Lord. He probably thinks that's what Harry would be like if he had any control."

Hermione thought about this. "You're probably right. But we need to get Harry to open up. He's hurting himself by sitting on it, you know that, right?"

"Mmm," said Ron, finishing his lunch and looking round to see if there was anything else to eat. Hermione passed him her bread roll, and he smiled his thanks.

"What were you and George talking about when we were at the shop?" Hermione asked. "You seemed to be out the back with him for quite a while."

"George was saying that he thinks that he and Neville might have to go and have 'the chat'," Ron replied.

"'The chat'?" Hermione asked. "What's that?"

"Oh, sorry," Ron said, "it's a pure-blood thing. When you get serious with someone, you go and announce your intentions to their parents."

"Oh," broke in Hermione, "should I have done that with Arthur and Molly?"

"Nah, it only matters if both parties are pure-blood. Or if you're one of the up-themselves families."

"So," Hermione said, cottoning on, having been taken by surprise before, "they're serious then?"

"By the sound of it, very much so. Neville will need to chat with mum and dad, and George will have to go and sound out Augusta."

"That sounds pretty scary for George!"

"Neville, too, I suspect. You've always been on Mum's good side, but she can be a real terror if she thinks someone might hurt her kids."

Hermione laughed at this. "How does Fred feel about this?"

"Oh, he's been encouraging them from the very beginning. And I do hear that Angelina Johnson has quietly been spending a bit of time at the shop whenever Fred is there …"

"Ooh, how exciting! So, do you think anything will happen while we're away?"

"Between George and Neville? I don't think so. They do sound serious, but. I did make George promise they wouldn't do anything while we're not here. And I'm sure that Robin and Ginny won't announce anything till Gin is of age."

"Robin and Ginny?" Hermione asked, her eyes going very wide.

"Don't tell me you hadn't worked that out!"

"Um … well, they're friends, obviously, but I didn't know they were an item …"

Ron laughed. "You're a very smart witch, Hermione Granger, but it's wonderful to know you don't know everything!"

* * *

_Wednesday, May 20 1998_

On Wednesday Harry finally caved in and told them exactly what Lucius Malfoy had said to him at the end of the trial. And all his misgivings proved well-founded: Ron looked ready to punch the man, and even Hermione was livid with rage.

"Right, that does it," she said. "We're going to go and make him explain himself!"

"Do you really think that's wise?" Harry asked.

"Definitely not," Ron replied, "but that's not going to stop us."

And with that, Ron and Hermione entered the Floo together, and the 'Malfoy Manor' they said as they did so sounded more like a blood-curdling oath than just their destination. Harry almost pitied Lucius, unsuspecting at the other end of the Floo connection.

Harry sat for a while, rather at a loss for what to do next. He looked around the library, and spotted a forgotten book underneath one of the armchairs. When he fished it out, he realized it was the book he had seen Hermione reading in the Burrow, the one she'd said wasn't very helpful.

For lack of anything better to do, he opened and began reading. It seemed that every mention of either 'Haußmann Shield' or 'Dette of Magickal Emanschipation' referred him to the second Appendix; so, abandoning the main text, he turned to the back of the book, found the appendices, and began reading Appendix Two.

An hour or so later, he put the book down on the floor by his side, his green eyes glowing in the room which was getting darker as it lost the morning sunlight. He now had the answers to so many questions. He now knew who Haussmann was, and why no-one else did. He now knew, he was sure, as much about the Shield as any wizard living. He knew what the mordant was, and why it was required. He had a faint suspicion as to what might have happened in their case; if he was right, it might even explain the colours. And he knew things about the Debt that Lucius Malfoy certainly knew, but would be horrified to learn that Harry did too…

And, incidentally, he now knew who had written the book. He knew why Hermione had not been able to find the answers in it. He had a guilty feeling of delight at the thought that finally he had learnt something from a book that Hermione hadn't been able to. Though his delight was tempered by the knowledge that it was because she did not share his special skill.

But all of this was nothing compared to the thought that he would soon see Draco again. He so desperately wanted to bring him back out of the exile he was in at the Manor. He was a real person, not a dirty little secret to be hidden away. That was why Harry had readily agreed to be responsible for him: he wanted to give Draco as much freedom as he could. He didn't trust anyone else to do that.

But, thinking of Draco, he worried: what if the blond no longer wanted him? Best to be sure, he decided, and Summoned a quill, ink, and a piece of parchment to himself, and sat at the desk to write.

Once he had finished the letter, he whistled for Pigwidgeon. As always, the little owl was ecstatic to be trusted with a letter to deliver, and willingly took the parchment to Malfoy Manor.

Harry decided it was morning tea time, and called for Kreacher, who apparated with a pop. The house-elf had anticipated the summons; he was holding a tray on which were placed a cup of tea laced with honey and some of Harry's favourite biscuits. He put the tray on the coffee-table, bowed, and vanished with another pop.

Harry smiled. He drank his tea, waiting for the return owl.

He had played his hand. Now it was over to Draco to respond.

* * *

_**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** My grateful thanks to Bicky Monster, my beta, whose help is invaluable._

_Thanks and welcome to all who now follow the story - please do leave a review to let me know what you think!_

_As for MPREG, __Draco seems to be the popular choice so far; please let me know what you think, both in general and in the context of this story._

_**Yume:** So glad to get more than just 'update soon' from you! :^)_

_**Cherrie-san:** Yes, Lucius is getting over his demons, too. Unfortunately his shutting the Floo precludes Floo-calls as well as travel.  
_

_**lovergirl101 :** The Malfoys are closer than may appear, as I tried to set out in Chapter 2 (remember then?). But yes, it's good that they are recovering that closeness.  
_

_**MirrorFlower and DarkWind:** Too right you can't kill him! I hope you no longer wish to, or at least do less, after the last two chapters!_

_**ShadonicLuver123:** (smirks)  
_

_**aminaluvr4life:** thank you. It's coming!  
_


	18. Return Owls

**18. Return Owls**

Draco Malfoy was sitting in his own study. He was officially reading, but mostly trying to avoid thinking about Harry. It was a week since he'd had him in his arms, and Harry had kissed him at the end of his evidence at Lucius's trial; and then nothing. Draco wanted to believe that Harry still wanted him, that they would still get on; but he was not one of Nature's optimists and he was finding it very hard to maintain a positive attitude without positive reinforcement.

Simply put, he was worried. Worried that his father had ruined things for them. Worried that Harry would interpret the gap as rejection. And worried that he had no idea what to do about it, how he could fix things. It was eating him up. Even the Potions book he was reading was proving a poor distraction; and that was saying something, given his love for the subject.

In the midst of his melancholy came the familiar pop of a house-elf apparating.

"Yes, Dippy?" he asked lazily, as she appeared in front of him. He had not summoned her, so he reasoned that one of his parents must have sent her with a message.

"Dippy is coming to tell Master Draco that we's is having visitors," she said, looking slightly abashed. Draco suddenly realized that she hadn't said she'd been sent; had she come entirely on her own initiative?

"I see," he said, not sure how he felt about that idea. House-elves rarely showed initiative, and it wasn't generally encouraged. "And who might these visitors be?"

"Mister Ronald Weasley and Miss Hermione Granger, sir. They is arriving in the Master's study!" Dippy said, in a very high-pitched and excited voice.

Draco choked a little. He had never dared enter his father's study without an explicit invitation; it was his father's _sanctus sanctorum_, his very private retreat. To have entered it directly through the Floo showed amazing courage. Or complete ignorance. Or, most likely, a touch of both.

But at least he could understand both why the house-elf had to tell someone, and why she thought he should know. He could forgive her that. She was standing there, looking a bit afraid; perhaps she had realized that she was out of line. She did have that look they got before they started punishing themselves; he didn't want that.

There was one certain way to stop it; it was a little early for morning tea, but that wouldn't matter.

"Thank you, Dippy," he said. "I'm a bit thirsty; could you get me a cup of tea?"

Dippy's eyes went large and round with delight at being asked to serve. "Of course Master Draco! Is young Master wanting some cakes as well?"

Draco laughed. His sweet tooth was notorious. "That would be lovely," he said, and Dippy apparated away happily.

Draco sat for a bit and thought about what had just happened. He actually had not wanted Dippy to punish herself. Before, it had been because he had known that Harry wouldn't have wanted it; now, it was his own want. What was happening to him? Was he becoming more like Harry?

Whatever it was, he decided, he wasn't going to add it to his worries. There simply was no point in trying to work out what was the Debt and what was his own wishes. He was not concerned, really: he trusted Harry. Harry and he getting together might have a compulsion at the base; but even if so, whatever their relationship became, it would still be the best thing that had ever happened to him.

A tea-tray appeared on his desk, with the usual cup, pot, milk-jug, and bowl full of cubes of sugar; next to it was a plate piled high with cupcakes, beautifully iced. There were so many that, what with the potions book he was reading and making notes on, it was nearly an hour later before he had managed to finish them all …

* * *

"What do you mean by it?" Hermione demanded, for what must have been the tenth time.

Lucius was getting a headache. He wasn't used to having to deal with people like this any more. They had invaded his study and demanded answers, and somehow he couldn't just throw them out. It wasn't just politeness – after all, politeness demanded that you didn't just Floo into a man's house and demand answers from him – no, it had something to do with the Debt, he was sure of it. These were Potter's friends; they had some claim to speak for him, and that was enough to ensure that Lucius could not hurt them, or even invite them to leave. He hated it; he had always hated feeling powerless. He had thought the Dark Lord would make an end to that; how wrong he had been! The truth was, he had been far more powerless when the man was in this house than he was now. The only reason it hadn't rankled then was because of the stark terror he felt with Voldemort there. Hermione's intellect and fierce determination might intimidate him, but she would never terrify him. She just didn't do terror, that was obvious.

Still, the question, the whole issue, hung in the air between them. He had warned Potter off, it was undeniable. What **had** he meant by it?

"You must understand, at the time," he answered, finally deciding to give a considered answer, "I was very afraid, Miss Granger."

"Yeah, right," Weasley interjected. "Harry had just saved your miserable arse from Azkaban, I can see why you'd be afraid of him."

Lucius kept his temper. With difficulty. "That's rather the point," he replied, putting on the patient-parent-to-stupid-child voice that fathers around the world know only too well. "To you, he's a friend, you understand him. But to me, I saw a boy who had got me into Azkaban who had become a man who destroyed the careful, long-laid plans of a master Wizard and wrapped the Wizengamot around his little finger. A man who holds a Debt over me that could destroy this family, make slaves of both Draco and myself. How could I trust him? It's not that I wasn't grateful to him – and to you," he added, turning to Hermione, "for keeping me out of Azkaban – I was just afraid that the price would be too high …"

Hermione looked thoughtful. "OK, I can understand that," she responded, her voice becoming calmer. "Hang on, you said you 'were afraid'. Has that changed?"

Lucius thought for a minute, seeking the best words to help them understand. At least she had stopped hectoring him; that made thinking much easier.

"Yes, I think it might have, a little. Draco is convinced that we can trust Mr Potter. I'm not sure, still, but if Draco does then that gives me just a little hope that somehow we might be able to make the Debt work."

"Work for you, you mean?" Ron asked, scornfully.

Lucius winced. He had said that badly; he deserved to be misunderstood. "I don't think there's any such thing any more, Mr. Weasley," he answered, his voice grave. "There's no way anything can 'work for me' as you put it, without 'working for Harry', as I'm sure you'd say. The Debt will make sure of that."

"He's right, Ron," Hermione broke in, sensing that Ron was going to argue the point. "It has to work for everyone. Isn't that what Harry's been arguing for all along? That we stop this 'them' and 'us' thing and work out a solution that means everyone is looked after?"

If anyone else had said this but Potter or his friends, Lucius would have scowled. But he had seen the man at close quarters. He really believed this rhetoric; and more, somehow he managed to take it from unrealistic trite platitude to a working manifesto. He had convinced the Wizengamot to let them off; no-one else could have stopped them getting Kissed after that Prophet headline, Lucius was sure of it.

He made a decision. Now was not the time for caution. They needed to know everything; it was the only way they were going to be able to work together. Because he knew now he had to promote that: it was what Potter wanted, and he was too close to him still to avoid the pull of the Debt.

"There are some other books I didn't show you last time," he confessed. "Would you like to take a look at them?"

Would Hermione Granger like to look at old books? That was one of Nature's rhetorical questions, really …

* * *

Dippy reappeared in Draco's study. "Would Master Draco be liking more tea?"

Draco cast a quick Tempus and discovered it was indeed morning tea time.

"Yes, that would be satisfactory," he answered. It occurred to him that he hadn't heard any more about Weasley and Granger. "Are our visitors still here?"

"Yes, Master Draco," the elf replied. "They is all being in the Library with Master Lucius now."

_The Library? He must be showing them the other books,_ Draco thought. His father was definitely coming to terms with the Debt, then. It was a bit strange, given how much effort he'd been through to make sure they hadn't learnt anything much about the dark magic involved when they'd been here two weeks ago; but a lot had happened in that fortnight! He wondered if he should go and see what they were up to.

Just then there was a knock at the window. Dippy opened it, and a tiny owl flew in, holding an envelope nearly as big as it was. Draco was taken aback for a moment, then it seemed to him he had seen the owl before … But where?

Then he placed it: he'd seen it delivering mail at Hogwarts. It was Weasley's owl. They called it 'Pig', he remembered. Trust the Weasleys to find the stupidest possible name for an owl. But if this was Weasley's owl, and Weasley was here … it must have been sent by Harry.

Harry had owled him! His heart leapt, and he reached out and managed to grab the stupid bird, which was fluttering about in great agitation. He removed the envelope, with some difficulty; most owls had the sense to be still when you took the letter, but not this one.

"Dippy, could you find some treats for this owl, please?" he asked. Dippy nodded, and disapparated as Draco opened the letter.

_Dear Draco,_ he read. His heart started beating faster. He'd never dreamt that that silly word 'Dear' starting a letter, or the use of the first name with it, could actually mean anything to anyone; but if Harry was pushing him away, he would have started 'Malfoy', surely.

Draco was a bit annoyed with himself. Just two words, and he was coming over all emotional. He forced himself to calm down, and read the letter in its entirity.

_Dear Draco_

_I hope you are well. _

_I write to ask a favour of you._

_I am living in my house, Grimmauld Place. At the moment, Ron and Hermione are with me, but they are going to Australia on Sunday for four weeks, and I would be grateful for some company, at least for some of the time while they are away. Also, the house needs quite a lot of work, and I think you might be able to help me, as you no doubt have experience with repairs at the Manor._

_Your father told me not to fraternize with you, but I can't stop thinking about how happy I am when I am with you. Please write by reply and let me know your thoughts._

_Hoping to hear from you very soon_

_Harry_

Draco could hardly keep the tears from his eyes as he dashed off a reply and then ran to the library.

* * *

Harry was obviously distracted, and Kreacher didn't like it. "Would Master Harry be liking more tea?" he asked, hoping to get his master into a better mood.

"What? Oh, sorry, Kreacher, no, if I have any more tea I'll be going to the loo every half hour."

"Very good Master Harry. Would Master Harry be wanting anything special for dinner?"

"Oh not really; though I am hoping we will have a guest. I would love a treacle tart, though, if it's not too much trouble."

"Kreacher is always delighted to make Master Harry's favourite for him. Master Harry is always so kind to Kreacher!"

Harry was saved from his embarrassment by a knock at the window. With excitement, and some trepidation, he let Pigwidgeon in. The little owl looked exhausted, so once he had retrieved the message, he turned to Kreacher and asked him if they had anything to feed the owl.

"Of course, Master Harry!" the elf said, happily, and popped away.

Harry sat in his chair and opened the envelope. He felt butterflies in his stomach, just like he had when asking Cho to the Ball. _This is stupid,_ he said, and pulled out the letter as Kreacher popped back with food for Pig.

The reply was very short. But, he decided once he had read it, it didn't need to be any longer.

_Harry,_

_I will come as soon as I can. I will stay as long as you want me._

_Draco._

Harry smiled. The only obstacle, the only thing that could have stopped him, had been overcome. He picked up the book from the floor, shrank it so it would fit in his pocket, put it there, and headed for the Floo. Kreacher, hearing him get up, looked over at his master as he stepped into the Floo, said "Malfoy Manor!" in a happier voice than the elf had heard for days, and disappeared, leaving the letter on the side table that had been at his elbow.

Kreacher read it, and a smile came to his lips. Draco! Narcissa Black's son! A son of the Blacks was coming back to Grimmauld Place! He went to prepare the bedroom opposite Master Harry's.

* * *

Draco found them in the library, looking very much like they had two weeks ago: Hermione and his father pulling out old books, discussing fine points of detail, and Ron sitting at the chess table in the alcove, looking bored. He cast a Notice-me-not charm on himself and quietly sidled over to the red-head, and sat opposite him before he had been seen.

"Would you like a game?" he asked softly, dropping the charm.

Ron, a little startled, looked at him, his face blank. Then, after a moment that seemed to Draco to last for hours, his face relaxed.

"Yeah," he said, "I would like that."

* * *

Narcissa was sitting at her desk when the Floo came to life, with the familiar sound of someone coming in through it. She looked up and saw Harry coming out, wiping a bit of soot off himself. She made a mental note to have the chimneys seen to, and the Floo connection itself. It would not do to have visitors to Malfoy Manor covered in soot!

"Harry!" she said, warmly. "It's been too long since we've seen you."

"Oh," he said, surprised; he'd rather forgotten that of course the Malfoys were here, and the room would probably be used. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have barged in on you like this."

Narcissa looked at him, patient but a little pained. "Harry, my husband has told you to come when you like, do you think he didn't mean it?"

"Well, given what he said to me last Thursday, I have wondered …"

_Ah, _Narcissa thought. Lucius still hadn't told her exactly what had been said; but he did now seem to have come to terms with the situation rather better. "And what was it he said?" she enquired.

Harry looked at her for a moment. _If Lucius hasn't told her, should I?_ He wondered. But then his new-found confidence came back again. Though she herself was not bound by it, Narcissa was affected by the Debt as much as Draco and Lucius; she deserved to know where things stood.

"He asked me not to 'continue to fraternize' with Draco," he said, baldly.

"I see," said Narcissa, in an icy tone that boded no good for her husband. "And you have decided to ignore this request?"

"Let's say that I've realized it is negotiable," Harry answered.

Narcissa looked at him. Lucius had explained something of the Debt to her and she suddenly understood: Harry now knew as well. Using words like 'negotiable' was entirely unnecessary; he could, if he want to, simply insist.

She bowed her head to him. "You are very kind, Harry."

Harry had no idea how to reply to this. Fortunately, he didn't have to; Narcissa looked him in the eye again, and said, as she led him out of her study, "I believe the others are in the library. Shall we join them?"

* * *

"What a happy gathering!" Narcissa announced as she entered the library, just ahead of Harry. Then she addressed Hermione and Ron: "I do hope you will stay for lunch?"

As they considered this turn of events, Harry walked over to the Malfoy patriarch.

"Lucius," he said in salute, extending his hand.

Lucius put his lips together, but he knew he couldn't really fight. Harry looked at him for a long minute. A mutual understanding flashed between their eyes, as Lucius suddenly realized: Harry _knew_. He became very tense as he shook the outstretched hand.

"What are your plans?" he asked. If it had been Voldemort, he knew, he would have asked 'what are your orders, Master?' instead. The Debt, and Potter himself, at least allowed him the dignity of pretending to agree with whatever was suggested, instead of acknowledging that he had no choice in the matter.

"I know what you said when last we met," Harry began, "but Ron and Hermione are going away and I was rather hoping Draco would come and stay with me."

Lucius let out his breath. It wasn't a command; Harry was taking care not to use force.

"And for me?" he asked.

"As you please, of course. I shall leave you be."

Lucius stared at Harry, taking in exactly what the words meant. Harry was giving him as much freedom as he possibly could. He bowed his head slightly to the younger man. "You are very gracious, Mr. Potter. Thank you."

"Please, Lucius, call me Harry."

"Very well, Harry," Lucius replied. He wondered if the man realized he had given an order, leaving Lucius little choice; but it was kindly meant, he could see that. There was no point in worrying any more, in trying to fight it. Potter – Harry, he had to call him now, even in his thoughts, it seemed – Harry knew about the Debt and what it meant for them; they just had to get on with life. If this exchange was any indication, Draco was right: Harry was trustworthy, and things really were going to be a whole lot better than they might have been had Voldemort won.

On his part, Draco was perturbed. He had committed himself in the owl to Harry; on the other hand, it had always been assumed that his father, as head of the family, had a right to be consulted on matters of family importance, and where the heir lived was definitely one of those.

"So I may go with him?" he asked.

Lucius turned, his eyes filled with a tenderness Draco hadn't seen in them for a long time.

"My son, you are of age; I won't stop you. But tell me this: do you **have** to go?"

Draco felt the urge to give the correct, Malfoy answer: that a Malfoy goes where he pleases, he doesn't have to answer any man's call. But it wasn't true, and he could see that his father knew it wasn't true.

"Yes, I think perhaps I do," Draco said, looking down to avoid anyone's eyes.

"I see. And do you **want** to go?"

Draco lifted his eyes to meet his father's. The look of tenderness was still there. He heart fluttered just a little. He went over to Harry and hugged him.

"With all my heart," he answered, so softly that only Lucius and Harry could hear him.

"Then go, with my blessing." Lucius said, just as softly.

* * *

Ron and Draco finished up their chess game while the others watched. Harry wasn't a great Wizard chess player and didn't really appreciate the subtleties of the game; but he could tell that they were playing at a very high standard. Draco, as the host, allowed his guest to win; but both players knew he'd done it, so Ron said, "We'll call it a draw, shall we?" Draco did not object.

Lunch was a much friendlier affair than the guests might have expected. Lucius seemed to go out of his way to put them at ease, and there was more laughter round the table than Draco could remember since … well, ever, if he was honest.

Once they had finished, and were filling any empty corners from the cheese board, it suddenly occurred to Hermione to wonder something. She turned to Harry.

"Harry," she asked, "why did you come when you did?"

Harry looked around the table and smiled at them all. Yes, they all deserved to hear this.

"Do you remember the book that Lucius lent you?"

"Oh yes," said Hermione, and turned to Lucius, "sorry, I meant to bring it with me, I'll look for it later and give it back to you."

"No matter," said Lucius, waving the thought away. "I know where it is."

"Yes, it's right here," Harry continued, pulling it out of his pocket and enlarging it. "I saw it this morning, just after you left, and picked it up. It was very interesting reading."

"Really?" said Hermione and Lucius together, then Lucius waved at Hermione to indicate that she should continue.

"But there wasn't much in it!" she objected.

"Not in the text, no, but the second appendix was most enlightening."

Hermione looked baffled. "Harry, there wasn't a second appendix; just blank pages at the end."

Harry smiled at her. It wasn't often that he could be the teacher and she the pupil, and he was enjoying the moment.

"Ah, but look," he said, placing the book carefully on the table and opening it at the back. The others crowded round him.

"What are those strange squiggles?" Hermione asked. "They weren't there before."

But Lucius had worked it out. "They're Parseltongue!" he exclaimed.

"Exactly!" Harry said, beaming at him like the Professors did to their star pupil. "The Appendix is written out in Parseltongue in long-hand, and charmed so that only a Parselmouth can make it visible."

"But, Harry, how did you know it was Parseltongue? I mean, you can't tell when you're speaking it, right? So can you tell when you're reading it?"

"No, actually," Harry answered. "I only realized when I'd been reading for half an hour and it struck me that the rest of the book was written in that hard-to-read script with weird spellings, but the Appendix was really straightforward. Of course, that was because I was reading it directly from Parseltongue and interpreting it into modern English."

"Wow," Draco said. "So, you can actually read that gibberish?"

"Oh, yes," said Harry. "And it told me lots of things. Firstly, if the signature is correct, and there's no reason to think it isn't, the book was written by Haussmann, and the Appendix was completed by …"

He paused, to see if they could guess.

"Salazar Slytherin?" Lucius asked. "There was a rumour he'd written the book, but I ignored it." He got some strange looks for saying this, so he explained, "every pureblood library has books supposedly written by the founders; but I tend to discount them. If every book that was claimed to have been written by Slytherin actually was, he wouldn't have had time to do anything else but write books!"

"Slytherin it was," Harry admitted. "This one, at least, would seem to be the genuine article. And it makes clear exactly who Haussmann was."

Hermione was getting a bit annoyed at all this leading and hinting; they weren't at school any more! So she asked, a little petulantly, "And who was he?"

"Hermione Granger, I am surprised at you," said Harry, in mock indignation. Hermione looked very confused at this. "You, of all people," he continued, "should know better than to assume the book was written by a man."

"Haussmann was a woman?" Ron asked.

"Yes! She was Slytherin's mother," Harry explained. "That's how he knew so much about the Shield. His father Salazin had been subject to a Magic-Binding Curse, and she managed to lift it. So of course, there was a Debt of Magical Emancipation between them. Salazar explains all about the debt at length. Because of it, he tells us, his father could never lie to his mother till his dying day. And he had to protect her from any threat. She was unmarried when she lifted the curse, and desired to marry him. As Salazar puts it, his father said it was 'by most happy chance that I wanted to do the very thing that I must do by her command; my desire and my duty pulling strongly in double-harness together'."

"So this is how you knew Lucius's – ah – _request_ was – ah – 'negotiable' as you put it?"

Narcissa looked straight at her husband as she said 'request' and Lucius looked a bit shamefaced as he realized that Harry must have told her what he had said after the trial.

"Negotiable?" he asked. "You could simply command me to let you see him."

"I could," said Harry, "but I'm not going to." Lucius looked like he didn't believe it, so Harry went on, "I need you to understand this. I don't want to be in command. I don't want to be another Dark Lord. The Debt is there, it constrains all three of us, but I won't let it rule our lives."

Lucius looked at him, really looked. He had suspected as much in the library, but Harry saying it out loud brought a whole new respect for this young man, mature beyond his years. "Thank you," he said, heart-felt.

"You're welcome," said Harry, a little embarrassed. "Anyway, Salazin Slytherin and Haussmann were married. When Salazar was two years old, his father's attackers came upon the family at night. The three of them were attacked again while in bed, and the shield came into being then."

"What happened?" Ron asked.

"It was rather like the scene at the Memorial," Harry answered. "The Shield flared up, a white, green and gold barrier, and the curses bounced off it and went back to the attackers. Apparently, they didn't survive them."

"How horrible for a two-year-old to witness!" exclaimed Narcissa.

"Oh, he says he was really pleased that these evil people got what was coming to them," said Harry. "He was a strange child, apparently. Anyway, it also says that, while it had been known for a long time even then that a Shield might be formed, it had always been a one-shot thing, so no-one had really studied it much. But this was different: later on, if anyone ever attacked his parents, it would flare up again. He says … Hang on, I'll read this bit," and Harry scanned the book for the right place, "here it is: _the Shield has proved to be endurant in my parents' case. They cannot be attacked with impunity while they are together; and this serves them well, as those who hate us either peris in attacking us or back away and leave us alone. We believe the Shield endures because it was fixed by some mordant, most likely my presence. They were protecting not just each other, but me as well; and the three-stranded cord of protection wove together in some way that two will not._"

"But that won't do to explain the Shield being endurant for us," Draco objected. "Or what this 'mordant' might be."

"No," Harry answered. "We'll have to puzzle that out later. Meanwhile, I would like to get home, if you don't mind. I promised Professor McGonagall I would help at Hogwarts whenever I could, so I'd like to get Draco settled and go over if I can."

"Do you think I could help, too?" Draco asked, rather tentatively, and Harry knew he really meant: 'do you think they would accept a Death Eater?'

"I'll ask," he promised. "I'll tell them I'll keep an eye on you."

"You may have to do that anyway," Lucius pointed out. "Draco can't go anywhere without Ministry permission, it's part of the probation. And he doesn't have a wand"

"Damn – sorry, Narcissa," said Harry, but she waved away the apology. If Harry thought that was cursing, he was going to have his eyes opened with Draco around, she thought to herself with some amusement. "I had forgotten about that."

"You can always send an owl to the Minister from here," Lucius pointed out. "Then if he gives permission, Draco can Floo over to Grimmauld Place."

"Are you sure you're all right about this?" Harry asked. He was taking their son away from them, after all.

"Harry, quite apart from the fact that you can order me to, I've seen how Draco is about you now; you are happy together, and I think he's right: you are not Lord Voldemort; as I said before, he goes with my blessing." Lucius replied. "Now, come to my study and we'll get that owl away."

* * *

Harry sent off an owl to Kingsley, asking if Draco could Floo to and stay at Grimmauld Place, and if there was any way for him to help with the Hogwarts restoration. Hermione and Ron told Harry they would stay at the Manor to await Kingsley's reply, so he was free to go to Hogwarts for the afternoon to help out, as he had promised.

It is certainly true in politics that it's not what you know, it's who you know. And sometimes, who knows you. When it came, the reply was not the permission they had hoped for from the Minister; rather, they received a note sealed with the Great Wizengamot Seal and signed by Elphias Doge as Chief Warlock, stating that if Harry wanted to take over responsibility for Draco before term started, that would be quite all right; in which case, Draco's probation now really boiled down to, 'no apparition, but otherwise, whatever Harry says, goes'. Accordingly, he was free to travel to and live at Grimmauld Place until term started.

So Draco packed the clothes and books he wanted to take, Narcissa packed a large hamper of goodies for them to share, and Lucius found half a case of elf-wine for Harry. Just before they left, the mention of 'elf-wine' suggested to Hermione that she should tell Draco about Harry's house-elf; he could be difficult to work with after all, so she stressed the need for kindness and understanding.

"Of course," said Draco, with earnestness in his voice. He knew all about Hermione's efforts in S.P.E.W., after all, and he didn't want to get on the wrong side of her. And he was grateful for the forewarning; he was used to house-elves around the Manor, but strange ones could still spook him.

As Draco couldn't apparate, the three of them Flooed back to Grimmauld Place. "Kreacher!" Hermione called as she came out of the Floo, after the other two.

The house-elf appeared with the usual pop. "Yes, Mistress Granger? How can Kreacher be helping?"

_Kreacher?_ Draco thought. _She didn't say it was him! He's still alive?_

"Oh, Kreacher, this is Draco Malfoy." Hermione replied. "He will be staying here for a while. Um, is there a room he could have?"

"Kreacher is already knowing about Master Draco being here," Kreacher replied. "Master Draco is Mistress Cissa's son, and has been here before. Kreacher is very happy to be having another son of the Black House staying here," he continued, with a low bow to Draco.

Draco smiled. Kreacher wasn't going to be any trouble at all.

"Thank you, Kreacher," he replied, with the slight bow that befitted a guest acknowledging his host's servant's welcome when the host is absent. "I am delighted to be here, and to learn that you are well. I do remember you from my previous visits; are your Spotted Dicks as amazing as ever?"

Kreacher looked delighted at such blatant flattery. "Master Draco will have to be deciding for himself!"

"And don't think you're getting them all to yourself, Malfoy!" Ron interjected.

"Master Draco is having the room opposite Master Harry," Kreacher continued.

With that, the elf easily levitated Draco's trunk, and showed him up to his room.

* * *

In the event, Draco decided that Kreacher's cooking was every bit as good as he remembered it.

* * *

_**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **Grateful thanks to Bicky Monster for being my beta!  
_

_Welcome to all who have subscribed - I'm humbled that people seem to enjoy my story so much!_

_THANK YOU to all the reviewers; so many loved the chapter! Definitely humbled._  
_I hope this chapter has answered some questions, and posed a few more!_

_On the matter of MPREG, I should make it clear that_  
_(a) I haven't promised there will be, but it's definitely in my thoughts;_  
_(b) It isn't happening soon;_  
_(c) the poll for who has the baby is a straw poll; this story has a way of telling itself, I find!_

_**PyroFyre1214: **I'm so glad for your enthusiasm! I hope this chapter was worth waiting for!_

_**MirrorFlower and DarkWind: **Well now we know Lucius's response!_

_**Wingedgirl18: **We'll have to see then. I hope I can live up to "written well", no matter what happens!_

_**Lovergirl101**: Yaxley has not been forgotten; but won't appear for a little while yet, I don't think. We'll have to wait and see!_

_**manateegirl524**: Hope this chapter lived up to "awesome"!_


	19. Returned Feelings

**19. Returned Feelings**

Harry Flooed home from Hogwarts to find Ron and Hermione reading in the drawing room.

"How was Hogwarts?" Hermione asked.

"Coming on amazingly," Harry answered. "It's all incredibly organized – Flitwick is in charge and has everything mapped out. There's a huge board up in the Great Hall, with everything written onto a six-week timeline. If things go to plan, the repairs will be completely finished in another five weeks, which gives the five last days of June for any extras and refurbishments."

"Brilliant!" said Ron. "What are the plans for the Eighth Years? Surely we won't all fit in the current dorms if there's an extra year of students?"

"I'm not sure yet." Harry replied. "They're up to something, I know that. McGonagall said they wanted to keep it a surprise, but there was something on the board about 'Tower Eight'."

Harry was looking just a bit edgy, and Hermione guessed why. She decided to have a little fun.

"Kingsley didn't reply," she said, affecting a conversational tone.

"Oh," said Harry, and he put so much sadness into a single syllable that Hermione relented.

"No, Elphias Doge did, instead. It's all sorted. Here, here's his owl."

She handed him the letter, and he read it, his face lighting up. _Whatever Harry says, goes._ He thought on this for a moment.

"Ron," he asked, "could I use Pig?"

"Of course, mate, you don't have to ask."

"Thanks," Harry said. As he turned, a piece of parchment, Summoned wordlessly, spread itself out on the desk, and the quill wrote on it. By the time Harry had walked over, the letter was ready; he signed his name, blew on it to dry the ink, popped it in an envelope, and turned to the owl who was sitting on his stand.

"Will you take this to Elphias Doge for me, please, Pig? There should be a reply," he asked.

The owl hooted happily, and let him fasten the envelope to his leg; then Harry opened the window for him, and he flew off; a trifle erratically, but Harry knew the message would get there. Well, hoped, anyway.

Hermione thought about continuing to sport with him, but decided that would be cruel, so she told him, "Draco's upstairs. Kreacher put him up on the third floor in the room opposite yours. Go on, off you go and welcome him."

"Thanks!" Harry said, and all but ran out of the room and up the stairs.

"George is right," Ron observed after he'd gone. "Besotted, and oblivious."

* * *

"Come in!" Draco said, before Harry even knocked. _Must have heard me coming up the stairs, _Harry thought as he came in and looked around. The room had been completely reorganized – Draco was obviously settling in and putting things his way. Harry was glad that his friend felt so at home.

"Welcome!" he said. "I'm sorry you don't have as much room as at the Ma—"

But further conversation was impossible; Draco had winded him as he ran into his chest, wrapped his arms around him, and covered his lips with his own.

"Please, Harry," he said, "less talking, more kissing and hugging."

Harry wrapped his arms around the blond and clasped him tight. He was surprised to find that Draco was shaking; he started rubbing his back and making soothing noises. In response, Draco burst into tears.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked, worried.

Draco had held his emotion back for a week; now he had Harry in his arms, all his famous self-control fell away.

"I've missed you so much. I thought Father might have scared you off altogether, or you wouldn't want me or …"

"Hush," Harry said soothingly, continuing to rub Draco's back. "He didn't, and I do. I'm here, I'm not going anywhere, I promise."

Draco looked into his eyes, remembering the words from a week ago, and responding with Harry's question: "Will you stay with me now?"

Harry smiled, and led him over to a couch Draco had put in a corner. He sat down, pulling Draco onto his lap, and kissed his forehead.

"Of course," he replied.

They sat together, holding each other, until Draco's sobs subsided.

Draco could do with a little teasing, Harry decided. "How did you know I was there? I didn't even knock!" Harry asked, though he had guessed the answer.

"But you made a lot of noise coming up the stairs," said Draco, smiling at last.

"That's better," Harry said, "I like it when you smile."

"I'll try and do a lot of it while I'm here, then," Draco replied. "How was Hogwarts?"

"Yes," Harry said, answering the question Draco was really asking, "McGonagall said of course all old students are welcome to help, and they'd be able to find you a school wand you could use. We're working in pairs, so I suggested you could work with me, just to avoid animosity from anyone else."

"And 'cos you don't want to share me," Draco said, teasingly. He stood up. "I'm going to have to clean myself up before dinner, I suppose."

"Right. Um, Kreacher showed you where everything was?"

"Oh, yes, I'm fine. You'd better go and talk to Weasley and Granger, I'll be down soon."

"OK," Harry said, making a mental note to work on getting Draco to call his friends by their first names. He could probably order him to, he thought; but that wasn't the point, really. He'd need to rope the others in to solve this one, he decided.

* * *

A bottle of elf-wine went surprisingly well with the thick beef and vegetable stew that Kreacher had prepared for dinner. The Aurors on duty had excused themselves, saying that the Minister had had a little word about eating inside not really going with maintaining constant vigilance. Harry grimaced at the words, remembering Alastor Moody saying them rather too well. Even if most of the memories he had weren't actually Mad-Eye at all, but Barty Crouch Junior polyjuiced as him … It was all rather confusing, really.

So it was just the four of them, seated at the kitchen table. Harry noticed that, while the conversation wasn't exactly free-flowing, the other three were at least trying to be friendly. He knew they were doing it for his sake, and he appreciated their effort.

"So, how do you rate Draco as an opponent, Ron?" Harry asked. A very strange expression came over Ron's face before Harry added, "At chess, I mean."

"Oh," said Ron, as the sickle dropped. "A damn sight better than you, I'm afraid!"

Harry and Hermione both laughed.

"That wouldn't be hard," Harry admitted.

"How do you rate Ron, Draco?" Hermione asked the blond.

"Weasley is a formidable opponent," Draco said, politely. "We seem to be quite evenly matched. It made for a most entertaining game."

Ron looked a bit shocked to be complimented by a Malfoy, and even forgot to tell him off for using his surname, like Harry had asked them to.

But Hermione didn't.

"You know you can use our first names, Draco?" she reminded him. "After all, we are all Harry's friends; I hope we'll all be friends too!"

Draco stared at her. _Could she really mean it?_ He asked himself.

"That's very kind," he began.

"It really isn't," Ron interrupted. "It's just what being a friend is."

"But – I nearly poisoned you;" he turned to Hermione, saying "my family tortured you;" then to both of them. "Can you really forgive me for that?"

Ron folded his arms and stared at Draco for a moment, a stern look on his face. Then he opened his hands.

"Yep," he said, grinning, and extended his hand to Draco.

Draco looked at it, stunned, and then shook the hand vigorously. Hermione got out of her chair, came over to him, and squeezed him in a tight hug.

Harry thought it must be the light getting to him; his eyes were suddenly watering a lot …

Kreacher's voice broke in on the scene. "Would young masters and mistress be wanting some Spotted Dick and custard?"

* * *

They sat in the drawing room after dinner, all feeling rather full after two helpings of pudding each. Pig arrived back, carrying a small parcel in reply from Doge, which Harry quietly pocketed without comment.

Draco had brought some books on house restoration spells from the Manor, and Harry and he were poring over them, discussing what needed to be done to Grimmauld Place, with Ron adding suggestions from time to time and Hermione being their scribe, writing a list of what they intended to do. As Kreacher appeared with coffee and chocolates, Harry suddenly remembered their discussion from the morning.

"Kreacher," he asked, "I thought we were going to have treacle tart this evening?"

"Kreacher is very sorry Master Harry!" the elf wept. "Kreacher is forgetting!"

"No, no," said Draco, "it's my fault. I asked Kreacher if his Spotted Dick was as amazing as ever, and he told me I'd have to decide for myself. And may I say, Kreacher, that it certainly was; your cooking has only improved over time."

"Thank you, Master Draco!" Kreacher said, his eyes shining.

"And thank you, Kreacher," Harry said. "We can always have treacle tart another time; but I'm very pleased that you made Spotted Dick to help Draco feel at home. I hope he will be staying here for a long while."

"As long as you want me, Harry," Draco replied.

"That's good," Hermione said. "We've promised Molly to spend some time at the Burrow before we fly out, so we thought we'd go over first thing tomorrow for the day, and stay there tomorrow and Friday nights."

"Fine," said Harry, "Draco and I can make a start on the renovations here, and then go over to Hogwarts in the afternoons."

"Is Draco going to help then?" Ron asked.

"Yes, apparently I'm welcome," the blond replied.

"That's brilliant!" Ron said, grinning widely, and then looking a little taken aback at Draco's rather surprised expression. "I mean, it is, right?"

"Yes," said Draco, breaking into a smile. "I just didn't ever imagine you would think so."

"Of course!" Ron replied. "It's just what being a friend is, remember."

It was Draco's turn to wonder if perhaps the light had suddenly become a little brighter …

* * *

_Thursday, 21 May 1998_

Draco opened his eyes, momentarily wondering where he was, as one does when waking up in a strange bed. The room was pitch black; casting Lumos and Tempus he found that it was two o'clock in the morning.

Why had he woken up?

And then he heard it: a very faint moan.

He remembered that sound. It was Harry. Much fainter than last time, but definitely Harry. _He must be having another nightmare_, Draco thought, and leapt out of bed. Gathering a dressing-gown around him, he wandered over to the other man's bedroom.

"Harry?" he asked, tentatively. There was no reply, so he tried the door. It wasn't locked; so he opened it quietly and slipped in. As he did so, he could feel a Silencing charm that Harry must have put up; as he went through it, he found that in fact Harry wasn't moaning, he was yelling. Anything less would never have made it through the charm.

"HARRY!" he yelled, racing over to the bed. There was no point being subtle in the face of the other's screaming. Harry was thrashing and getting caught up in the bedclothes, which was obviously distressing him even further. Draco wrapped his arms tightly around the raven-head, who seemed unconsciously to accept this as a friendly gesture; he began to calm down, and the screams became mumbles and pants, and then sobs as Harry nestled against Draco's chest.

"Shhhh," Draco said, softly. "It's all right. Shhhh."

After a while, the sobs subsided, and Harry's breathing returned to normal. Draco kissed the forehead of the, amazingly, still sleeping man.

"Let's get you sorted out," he said, speaking mostly to reassure Harry that he was there, and so he wouldn't Harry worry about Draco moving away.

He unwound the sheets and blankets from Harry and laid him carefully down on the bed, then pulled the covers over him again. Remembering how Harry had wanted him last time, he got in next to him and cuddled him tight. Harry unconsciously rolled over and mirrored the gesture, and it was not long before they were fast asleep in each other's arms. The rest of the night passed in restful, dreamless sleep.

* * *

Harry woke up quite early. He looked around; there was no-one else there. Had he only dreamt the feeling of Draco in bed with him then?

He got up, put on dressing gown and slippers, and descended to the kitchen to see if there was a cup of tea to be had. On the way he paused at Ron and Hermione's door; he was greeted by the sounds of gentle breathing and not-so-gentle snoring; his friends were obviously still fast asleep.

As he got to the bottom of the stairs he could see the back of Draco's head. The blond was sitting there, happily chatting to Kreacher about the times he had visited Grimmauld Place before. Harry hung back at the door, watching. He was tickled pink to think that here was the pure-blood Draco Malfoy having a natter with a house-elf. He couldn't imagine Draco's parents doing such a thing!

It wasn't long before Kreacher noticed him.

"Master Harry!" he greeted, "Master will be wanting some tea!"

With which, he jumped up and began to rustle around in the kitchen.

Harry sat opposite Draco and looked at him closely. The blond had washed his face, and his eyes shone from the water; but he was tired underneath.

"I didn't imagine it, did I?" he asked.

"Pardon?" Draco asked, a bit stumped; most people tended to start the day with 'Good morning'; 'I didn't imagine it' was, to say the least, an unconventional opening.

"You came in. I was having a nightmare, and you came to me."

Draco's face fell a little. "I didn't know if you'd want me there when you woke up. We didn't discuss your friends or anything …"

"Oh Draco, you don't have to be ashamed here. I'm so thankful you came in last night, I was getting terrified …"

"What was it about?" Draco asked, and then mentally kicked himself for being so insensitive, as Harry's face fell as he remembered the scenes that the Auror's innocent words had set off in his head.

"Mad-Eye Moody. I'd rather not discuss it, if that's all right," he said.

"Of course," Draco agreed.

They sat for a minute in silence. Harry's tea floated across to him, and he added a spoonful of honey before continuing, "You know, Draco, I think you're the first person who's ever been there for me like you were last night. Until that night in the Manor, I can't remember anyone seeking me out and comforting me at all, never mind cuddles in bed."

Draco went rigid, visibly shocked. "What? But you grew up with Muggle relatives, didn't you?"

"My aunt and her family," Harry agreed.

"And she didn't comfort you when you hurt?" he asked, scandalized at the thought. His mother would still check up on him even now if he made any noise at night, he was sure of it.

"Not once. Often enough, she caused the hurt. It would have been hard to have cuddles in bed, though. I didn't even have a bedroom before I went to Hogwarts; I slept in a cupboard."

Draco was outraged to hear such things; he'd always assumed that the Boy-Who-Lived would have been treated like a king; he certainly would have been in wizarding circles as the only known survivor of the Killing Curse, and the presumed cause of Voldemort's disappearance for over ten years.

Who put a child in a cupboard? Who treated their own flesh-and-blood with such coldness? It chilled his blood, and he couldn't bear to hear more just now; and while Harry looked like he was holding it together, Draco, who had watched him closely for years, could tell he was ready to burst into tears. The blond stood up, walked around the table to Harry, and circled him with his arms, holding his head close to his own chest, brushing the hair with his hand.

"Oh, Harry," he said, "I'm so sorry …"

"You have nothing to be sorry for," Harry said, though it came out rather muffled. He pulled Draco onto his lap.

"Yes, I do," Draco replied, looking at him seriously. "I left your bed because I was afraid of what the others might think. I didn't think at all about what _you_ would think. I'm sorry, Harry," he said, kissing the other's forehead, and then moving to sit on the chair beside him.

"Forgiven," Harry, sniffling, assured him.

Two plates of bacon and egg floated over from the cooker, one plate settling gently in front of each of them.

"Thank you, Kreacher, this looks magnificent!" Draco said.

"Than' 'oo, Kreacher," agreed Harry, the words having some difficulty forcing themselves around the mouthful of breakfast he had taken.

* * *

They had finished breakfast and Draco had even had time to shower and dress before there was any sign of the other two. Ron poked his head into the drawing room and found them consulting over the list Hermione had made, discussing exactly where to start.

"Morning!" he called to them. "Hermione will be down in a minute. Um, any chance of breakfast?"

"There _was_ plenty before we started," Draco answered. "We did save you a little," he dead-panned.

"WHAT? A little?" Ron squeaked, and rushed to the kitchen.

Harry dissolved into a fit of giggles. "You've got his number!" he said, as soon as he got his breath back.

"Oh, it's always been clear that Mr. Weasley is fond of his victuals," said Draco, in his best upper-class pure-blood voice, rather ruining the effect by then bursting into giggles himself.

They heard Hermione going down. After a minute, silence descended, so the two of them wandered down to the kitchen to see what was going on. Ron was sitting in front of an enormous plate filled with bacon, eggs, sausage, tomato and beans; Kreacher was obviously well-used to his appetite as well.

Hermione, who had decided she didn't particularly want a big breakfast, had a plate of toast and marmalade in front of her. "Thank you, Kreacher," she said with a brilliant smile.

Kreacher gave the other two some more tea, and, as the two late-comers finished their breakfast, they all sat together in a companionable silence which lasted until Hermione had emptied her plate.

"How did you sleep?" she asked Draco, as Ron was finishing his breakfast.

"Oh, quite well, thank you, once I managed to fall soundly asleep," he replied, truthfully if rather careful to be exact.

"Oh, sorry you had trouble falling asleep," Hermione continued, her voice concerned and motherly.

"Oh, strange house and all, you know," Draco said, wanting desperately to avoid the topic altogether. "You mentioned something about flying out? I think Harry said you were going to Australia?"

They discussed the whole going-to-Australia plan with him. Draco was very impressed to learn that Hermione was capable of putting such a powerful memory charm on her parents; and he was amazed to learn that they were flying, not on a broom or through magical means, but in a Muggle aeroplane. Privately, he thought this was a truly insane idea; but, in the interest of being friends, he kept that opinion to himself and expressed an appropriate polite interest.

Not that it would have mattered much to Ron what he said. The red-head burbled away happily about the plane they would be travelling on – he seemed to have found out everything: its weight, number of passengers, range … Harry mused that the Weasley's youngest son had definitely inherited some of his father's fascination with all things Muggle.

But Hermione noticed that Draco wasn't really interested. "Now, Ron, we must get over to the Burrow; you know what Molly's like, she'll be wondering where we are."

"Don't be silly, 'Mione," Ron said. "She's not expecting us till lunchtime."

"Yes, but Harry and Draco wanted to make a start on renovations, and they don't need us under their feet while they do that."

Ron could see there was no arguing with the witch, so he caved in and they Flooed to the Burrow just before ten o'clock.

* * *

Harry and Draco had a very happy and profitable couple of hours, and by lunchtime the basic spellwork they had planned out had been laid. Harry could feel that the house was somehow more stable than before; it felt more solid, in a way he could not identify. Draco explained that it was more his magic settling down and tuning to the house; he was becoming truly its owner.

After lunch, they consulted with the Aurors, who confirmed that they were quite safe at Hogwarts without an Auror guard, and that under the terms of Draco's probation, Harry could take Draco with him wherever he wished; they would even turn a blind eye to side-along apparition if Harry preferred. But, while he definitely would have preferred, Harry did not want to take any risks, so they Flooed to the Headmistress's study.

"Ah, Potter! Malfoy! Welcome!" Minerva said. "Right on time, too, I see. You must be having a good influence on Mr. Potter, Mr. Malfoy; he was never on time under his own steam that I recall…"

"Oh come now, Professor," said Harry, deliberately using her former title to bring back memories of schooldays, "I did get to class on time once or twice …"

"Yes, Potter," she replied, with mock severity. "But that was largely Miss Granger's doing I suspect."

Harry laughed, and gave up. He wasn't going to win; he had not expected to get the better of Minerva McGonagall, anyway.

"What will we be doing today, Headmistress?" Draco asked, a little hesitantly. He didn't have the relationship that Harry had with his former head of house; so felt rather left out of the banter, and somewhat awkward.

The Headmistress must have sensed this, because she smiled at him kindly before saying, "You'll need to report to Professor Flitwick in the Great Hall; we're all working under his guidance. He will brief you."

They thanked her, taking this as a cue to leave, and turned to the door.

"Oh, and Malfoy?" she called after them.

The blond turned back towards her. His face was blank, but he couldn't read her at all, and it made him very nervous. Without showing it, inwardly he was concerned to learn what she would say now.

But she just smiled. "Welcome back," she said, warmly.

* * *

In the Great Hall, several helpers were just finishing lunch, and Professor Flitwick was seated on an enormous stool that managed to bring the tiny wizard almost up to Draco's shoulder.

"Ah! Potter! Malfoy! Welcome!" he twittered in an excited voice. "Now! I have been waiting for you two to turn up! I want you to start work on a very special project! Come with me!"

With that he leapt from his stool; for a moment, Draco was afraid he would hit the ground and break something. But Filius Flitwick was not Charms Professor at Hogwarts for no reason! His Levitation charm, wordless and wandless, kept him well off the ground, and he floated out through the entrance hall. He was fast! Harry thought, as the two of them struggled to keep up with him. They went up the Grand Staircase and through corridors, passing many wizards, witches and house-elves at work: rebuilding walls, patching the curtains, mending the paintings; everywhere there was work to do, and work being done.

Eventually they stopped in front of a portrait of a phoenix. As they arrived, the phoenix turned its head to scrutinize him; then, with what might have been a look of recognition, flew into the right-hand edge and vanished; it must have gone to some other painting. Harry was sure he'd never seen the painting before, though he thought he might recognize the phoenix; Flitwick confirmed both of these: "a new painting, in honour of Professor Dumbledore and Fawkes, his phoenix!" he exclaimed. A few moments later the former headmaster appeared in the frame.

"Welcome, Harry!" he cried, "welcome Draco!"

"Hello, sir," they both said, nearly in unison.

Their old headmaster beamed at them. "I'm not usually here, you know, this is more Fawkes's painting than mine; but I couldn't resist coming and greeting you, so I asked him to let me know as soon as you arrived. How are you getting on with the Debt?"

Harry and Draco both gulped at being asked such a question. What did the old wizard know, and how did he find it out? Draco wondered. Dumbledore turned a twinkling eye on him.

"I have many sources of information, Mr. Malfoy. Not to mention my own eyes, which tell me that you two are finally becoming friends. About time too. And I'm pleased to see you two setting such an excellent example of togetherness for the Wizarding world."

Harry was a little shocked. "Are you really happy for us to be together, sir? I mean, I thought you might think…"

"Harry," the headmaster interrupted, "I think that Mr. Malfoy is very special, as are you, and together you will help each other get over the past. And then you can help others to do the same. It doesn't matter a bit to me that you're both male; and anyone who says otherwise doesn't understand real love, my boy."

"Thank you, sir," Harry said, choking over the words. Draco looked at him. Harry was so afraid of being judged for their relationship. Why? He wondered. What had happened to Harry that made him so lack self-confidence? Was it something to do with the Muggles?

The headmaster, who Draco was beginning to believe could read minds, looked at him, and nodded slightly, as if to say _yes, follow that thought._ But he didn't say anything to the blond, rather addressing the three of them:

"Very good. Now, I do _enjoy_ your company, Mr. Potter, _amongst other things, _but now I must leave you in Professor Flitwick's most excellently capable hands." With that, he walked out of the painting, and Fawkes, for Harry could now plainly see it was him, reappeared.

"These are some old rooms we're going to start renovating as the Eighth Year Tower!" Flitwick squeaked. He looked sideways at Harry, his face suddenly very mischievous. "Do you think you can guess the password, Mr. Potter?" he asked.

Harry thought for a minute. Dumbledore had put an odd stress on _enjoy_ and _other things_… what else did he enjoy? And then he remembered a note from his former headmaster, telling him he enjoyed …

"Acid pops!" Harry said.

Flitwick chortled, the painting swung open, and the three of them entered the new Tower.

* * *

They walked into a poorly-lit, dusty space. It was obvious that no-one had been here for years; Flitwick looked around and tut-tutted audibly.

"The house-elves were supposed to have made a start this morning," he said. "But perhaps they were busy with all their other duties. Never mind." Out came his wand and in about twenty seconds all of the dust was gone, and many of the interior walls. He then turned to the windows; soon they were standing in a huge octagonal space with a large window on each of the eight walls; through them, now that they were cleaned, sunlight streamed into the room, catching stray particles of dust as rays of light do. Harry and Draco were amazed; the room had gone from dark and dingy to light and spacious within minutes.

"Now we can begin!" Flitwick chortled happily.

"Um, well, I can't," Draco reminded them, "I haven't got a wand."

"Oh yes!" Harry said, pulling the parcel he had received from Doge out of his pocket. "I have this for you!"

He cast an Engorgio on the box, and handed it to Draco. It was a familiar shape and size ... _Could it be?_

Draco opened the box. It was. Inside was nestled his wand.

"I hope you'll get to keep it a lot longer this time!" Harry chuckled. "Doge agreed that if what I say goes, you can have your wand if I say so; and I do! So, now I'm giving it back to you again. For good, this time, I hope."

Draco looked at him, speechless, his eyes showing his gratitude and thanks.

They spent the afternoon happily cleaning out the rooms. Flitwick had cast some stupendous enlargement charms and then left them to it; they had never realized during school just how powerful the tiny wizard was, but seeing his levitation and enlargement charms today, they agreed that his charmwork really was second to none.

By six o'clock they had the new quarters actually looking like a dwelling place, rather than untidy space. The large common room, at the base of the Tower, was coming into shape nicely; they had chosen to decorate it in rather muted colours, weaving together the colours of the four houses, and were about to start work on the rooms above when Flitwick reappeared.

"Excellent! Excellent!" he said, clapping his hands. "Lovely charms to make the colours! Time to finish for today! Come for lunch tomorrow, please, and we will discuss the upper floors then."

They happily agreed and returned to the Headmistress's office to Floo back to Grimmauld Place for dinner. McGonagall was there, having returned from her own meal.

"Ah, there you are. It's nice to see you two looking happy," she said to them as they came in. "Did you have a productive day, Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco still felt he didn't quite know how to deal with the Headmistress, so answered politely, "yes thank you, ma'am."

McGonagall looked at him rather sternly, then her face relaxed a little, and she said, in the gentlest voice he had ever heard her use, "Draco, you don't have to be afraid of me; I don't bite, you know. Here, have a cookie."

She levitated her cookie jar to him.

"Take one," Harry whispered at him. "It's a sign she's pleased with you."

Draco did, and said "thank you. Um, yes, we did work together well, I think. We worked together repairing Harry's house this morning; I think we make a good team."

Harry smiled in agreement. McGonagall, watching them, compressed her lips in the slightest of smiles. _In more ways than one, I suspect, _she thought.

"Well, enjoy your evening, gentlemen. Will we be seeing you tomorrow?"

"Oh yes," Draco said, "Professor Flitwick invited us to come for lunch first."

"Excellent!" McGonagall replied, with real warmth. "So, we shall see you around midday then."

* * *

Kreacher produced a lovely steak-and-kidney pie for dinner, and then at last, with many an apology from the old elf, the promised treacle tart. Draco proclaimed it to be excellent; Harry didn't have to, his opinion was obvious from the fact that he only turned down a third helping because he was afraid he would burst.

They sat reading together in the drawing room after dinner; but it was not long before the effort of all the spellwork they'd done during the day caught up with them, and they went off to bed.

As they got to their landing, Draco took his courage in both hands. He so wanted to move their relationship on; but was Harry ready to go further?

"How about you don't use a Silencing charm tonight?" he asked.

Harry looked dubious. "But that's not fair; if I have a nightmare, I'll disturb you."

"Harry," Draco said, looking at him earnestly, "if you have a nightmare, I want you to disturb me. I want to help. You've always been the saviour, our knight in shining armour; can't I be yours in this? You deserve so much comfort, let me give you some?"

"You care that much about me?"

Draco looked at him; he just couldn't quite find the courage to say the words …

Harry smiled. How could he resist that face, that devotion? "All right. I won't use a Charm."

Draco felt his courage ebbing away, so dug his fingernails into his palms to make himself go on. _Say it!_ He told himself. "Unless of course we just start off together …"

In the middle of the night, Harry had another nightmare about Remus. But it never got going; the arms that surrounded him immediately, the voice that soothed him, calmed him back to sleep before he even fully woke up …

In the middle of the night, Draco at last found courage to say the words.

"I love you, Harry."

"Mmm," Harry said, but he was only responding to the voice, not the words. The raven-head didn't hear; he was fast asleep. But it didn't matter; the words had been said, and they were true, and Draco astonished himself to have been able to say them out loud.

* * *

_Friday, 22 May 1998_

Harry opened his eyes slowly. He was still being held by the arms of the man he –

Did he? Really?

_Yes, I do, _he thought.

He loved Draco Malfoy.

He must have disturbed Draco; for as he watched, the grey eyes fluttered open.

"Morning," the blond said, slowly, lazily.

Harry didn't speak at first. He captured those lovely lips in a warm kiss; Draco quickly responded, clutching Harry tighter, and as Harry nipped Draco's bottom lip he opened his mouth and their tongues came together, slowly and sweetly tasting each other, saying so much with no words.

As they broke apart, needing air, Harry finally replied.

"Morning, lover."

"Really?" said Draco, his eyes ablaze with excitement.

"Well, I love you. And you love me. Don't you?" Harry asked.

Draco didn't bother saying anything in reply; instead he tipped Harry onto his back and plastered his face, his neck, his chest, everywhere he could reach, with kisses. In truth, he probably couldn't have answered with words. All the doubt, the uncertainty, the fear, the waiting, it was all over, gone.

He loved Harry.

Harry loved him.

What was there to be said?

* * *

_**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **As always, my grateful thanks to my beta, Bicky Monster._

_And to all who have newly subscribed, welcome! _

_And to all my lovely readers, please, please review. _

_**MirrorFlower and DarkWind**: I like the new rules too! No more Lucius this chapter, so still don't need to kill him! :^)_

_**PyroFyre1214:** Thank you for your kind words!_


	20. Pledges given and returned

**_AUTHOR'S NOTE: _**

**_WARNING! _**_Here be slash!__ Yes, between them. No, not that. Not yet.__  
_

* * *

**20. Pledges given and returned**

_Friday, 22 May 1998_

For breakfast that morning, Kreacher made pancakes, and Harry happily drowned them in maple syrup as always. But before he could eat any, Draco cheekily reached out his fork and sliced off a piece. Harry opened his mouth to protest, and Draco took advantage of this to feed the sliver of pancake to his lover.

Now, Harry loved pancakes, especially with maple syrup; before today, he would, if pressed, probably have said that they rated as his favourite breakfast. But now he knew better. Only now did he discover that his favourite breakfast was being fed pancakes in maple syrup by his lover. Of course he couldn't resist returning the favour, and they continued happily feeding each other all through breakfast.

And as it is hard enough to navigate drowned pancake into one's own mouth without dripping syrup everywhere, neither was surprised that they had made rather a mess of each other's faces by the time they had finished.

"Ugh, my lips are all sticky now," Draco complained.

"I can help you with that," Harry said, sidling up to him.

"Go on, then," said Draco with a smirk.

Harry didn't need any more encouragement; he kissed his lover, and licked away all the stickiness. Draco returned the favour happily, and they sat together embracing one another and kissing long after all the syrup was gone.

Kreacher, looking on, smiled happily to himself. He hid it well, but he had a sentimental streak in him; the sight of the Black heir and the Black descendent enjoying one another's company so intimately, completely oblivious of his presence, gladdened his heart, and he snuck quietly away to his den in the boiler room so as not to disturb them.

* * *

Harry's house-repair spells came on faster and stronger than before; by lunchtime, the whole of the ground floor was starting to feel much more solid. Kreacher came out of his den and cast an appraising, and appreciative, eye over the restoration. He joined in the work, madly polishing and cleaning, until the whole ground floor was almost unrecognizable as the same house. There were still Mad-Eye's protective spells and the portrait of Walburga Black to deal with; though Harry realized that the old Black matriarch hadn't yelled at them since Draco had arrived. When he mentioned this, Draco told him he had had a quiet chat with her when he arrived, and assured her that he would keep a good eye on the house while he was there. This seemed to have calmed her considerably, which made life a lot more pleasant for all of them.

As well as things were progressing, the spells and portrait would have to wait for another day. As agreed with Professor Flitwick, they Flooed to Hogwarts for lunch. As they arrived in the Headmistress's office, a thought occurred to Draco; and, emboldened by her kindness from yesterday, he plucked up the courage to ask,

"Forgive me, Headmistress, but Blaise said he received a letter from Hogwarts and I was wondering …"

"Why you did not receive one?" she finished for him.

"Exactly," he agreed.

She smiled at him. "Mr Zabini only received a letter asking him if he intended to return; we have not yet made formal offers. There was no need to send either of you such a letter; you are required to attend by the Ministry, and Mr Potter has confirmed his interest verbally. You will each, of course, receive a formal offer, in due course." As she said this, she looked kindly at both of them; but, as her eyes fell on Harry, her expression changed to a knowing smile.

"Something to tell me, Potter?" she asked, in the closest thing to a casual voice Harry had ever heard her use.

"Um…" Harry said, looking blank. "No?"

Draco smirked. "You mean, apart from having a lover?" he prompted.

Harry went very red. It simply hadn't occurred to him to discuss his love-life with his old housemistress! But apparently there was something that made it very obvious that he and Draco were now together.

"Quite," said the headmistress, giving Draco an appreciative look, a look that said, 'he's such a duffer; you and I need to take good care of him'.

It was the first time Draco had ever felt any kind of warmth specifically directed at him from his former Transfigurations professor; it was an amazing feeling for a former Death Eater who was, to tell the truth, still a bit surprised that people weren't spitting at him openly, rather than enlisting his help and taking him to their hearts (and, in Harry's case, his bed).

He gave her a look back, which said, 'I promise'.

"Very good," she said to him, accepting the unspoken pledge. "Enjoy your lunch!"

* * *

There were only two long tables set out in the Great Hall, instead of the usual four; to make the point that they weren't in houses, Draco supposed. Harry sat down at once opposite Neville Longbottom and Dean Thomas; after a tiny hesitation Draco sat next to him. He was the only Slytherin present, and felt it.

He schooled his face to the slightly disdainful look that had served him so well during school, and greeted them with a curt nod each. "Longbottom; Thomas," he said, something of his old bravado coming through.

But Neville obviously didn't believe the self-assured tone for a minute. "Don't worry, Draco," he told the blond, winking as he passed the blond a basket of bread rolls, "we won't bite!"

"Not hard, anyway!" Dean added.

"Dean!" Neville said, admonishingly. "Don't be like that, we're all friends here. Did you get that red mark removed from the blue tapestry?"

Neville and Dean went on to discuss the restoration work they had obviously been doing together. Draco, glad to have been relieved of the duty to converse, withdrew into himself just a little. He was a bit stunned. Was this really Longbottom? Where was the nervous, anxious, gangly boy? Where did this self-assured, attractive young man come from?

Harry must have picked up on his thoughts because he leaned over and whispered into his ear, "you know Neville killed Nagini, right, Draco?"

Draco turned to look at him with slightly widened eyes; he hadn't known. Just as quietly, he asked, "Is that why he's … um ..." He couldn't find words to articulate his surprise, but Harry understood.

"Yes. What with that, and he and George Weasley getting together, his confidence has been boosted no end."

_Wow,_ Draco thought. _George Weasley and Neville Longbottom? Never saw that one coming!_

"There you are! There you are!" Flitwick twittered, coming over to them. "I hope you are enjoying your lunch!"

"Yes, thank you, Professor," Draco answered. The Professor was floating along again, which put him at head-height with the seated workers. Draco was rather ashamed to think that he had found the tiny wizard comical, now that he had seen him duel during the War, and his charmwork yesterday. Small, he may be; but there were few wizards who could match him for magic, Draco suspected, and he certainly wouldn't want to try himself.

"Come, come, Mr. Malfoy, your face is too serious. I won't have my workers frowning! We must set you to work!" Flitwick said.

Draco smiled in spite of himself. The enthusiasm was infectious, and he was looking forward to spending the afternoon working with Harry in any case.

* * *

Once they were back in the Eighth Year Tower, Flitwick swore them to secrecy before revealing his plans for the accommodation.

"Here it is! Here is my baby!" he said, conjuring a table and unrolling a huge blueprint showing his very intricate and ingenious idea. "And I can't think of anyone better to bring it to life than you two!"

The staff had decided that, since the students were that much older than the others, and all of age, it would not be appropriate to house them dormitory-style, but rather in two-person rooms. Flitwick had planned four towers, each containing four bedrooms, arranged with two bedrooms and a shared bathroom on each of two floors. This provided convenient accommodation for thirty-two students; and each tower could easily be doubled in height if necessary, or even whole extra towers added if required; but as they only expected nineteen students to return, the proposal would comfortably house all of them and provide an extra tower of accommodation for visiting students. Flitwick explained that ever since since the Triwizard Tournament there had been considerable interest from both the Durmstrang Institute and Beauxbatons Academy of Magic in establishing a reciprocal programme of student exchanges; and the interest had only increased since Voldemort's defeat. Privately, he admitted, he thought that having the Destroyer of Voldemort at the school was definitely a huge draw-card. But nothing had as yet been finalised.

Draco gasped as he pored over the design. It was sheer brilliance. The spellwork had all been plotted out and calculated precisely; all they had to do was follow the instructions.

"You really want me to be part of making this?" he said.

"Oh yes, Mr. Malfoy! I have great faith in your charmwork! And think of the message that you and Harry creating this place in concert will send to our society – that even former enemies really can work together, and achieve wonderful results!"

"Thank you, Professor," Draco said with difficulty, barely holding back tears. He found the trust the man was showing in him almost overwhelming.

Flitwick looked at him carefully. "Yes, well, I think you are well able to do the job, so I'll leave you to it." He levitated the blueprint over to the wall, where he placed it with a Sticking charm so that it would be readily available as a handy reference without the risk of anyone spilling anything onto it. As he was leaving, he pulled Harry down to his mouth and whispered into his ear, "take care of him, won't you."

"Oh yes, Professor, I promise," Harry replied.

* * *

At four o'clock, they were busy working on the top rooms when they heard a small voice from the common room two floors below.

"Young masters is wanting some tea?" it called.

"Yes, please!" Harry yelled back, and they both raced down to the common room. There they found Winky the house-elf laden with a huge tea-tray, replete with fruit tarts and scones with jam and cream, which she placed on the table Flitwick had conjured. She was looking around, blinking huge and obviously astonished eyes.

"Young masters is doing miracles!" she said, with great warmth. "Professor Flitwick is being very pleased with young masters, Winky being certain!"

"Thank you!" said Draco. Harry was a bit busy to say anything; he was ravenously hungry, he had discovered, and was already halfway through his second scone as he stirred his tea with one hand, the other holding the other half-scone.

"OI!" Draco twitted him, "leave some for me!"

"You'll have to be quick!" said Harry, placing the half-eaten scone into his mouth and reaching for his third. But he didn't get it; Draco levitated the plate away from him and grabbed it himself.

"Hah!" he said, taking a bite from his prize; but then softened the moment as he reached over to feed his lover the remainder.

Harry decided that being fed scones by Draco for afternoon tea was every bit as good as being fed pancakes for breakfast by him.

Winky smiled at them. "Young masters is being very happy!" she squealed. "Winky is pleased! Headmistress McGonagall is asking Winky to make sure young masters is all right!"

Then the elf started, and put her hand over her mouth. Harry guessed she wasn't supposed to say anything, and he knew he couldn't let her punish herself; especially as he thought it was really quite sweet that McGonagall was concerned about them.

"It's all right, Winky," he reassured her. She had been the Crouch's house-elf and dismissed from service, which had hit her hard; she had become addicted to butter-beer, he remembered, but she seemed to be getting over it. "And how are you? You look like you're doing better than before."

"Thank you Master Harry Potter!" she answered. "Winky be happy to be being of service! Winky fought in the Battle, and killed a werewolf, and even Kreacher be saying how well Winky be doing to do so, and how it making Winky be a proper house-elf again." She puffed out her chest in pride. "So now Winky showing everyone she being a good elf!"

"You are an excellent house-elf," Draco confirmed, "and if you promise us more scones and pastries, I'll let everyone know!"

Winky nodded, ecstatic at such praise, and vanished with a pop. She didn't come back herself, but an enormous plate of sweet treats appeared, which they munched on during the rest of the afternoon.

Harry looked at his lover, shaking his head. "Shameless," he said.

"Oh absolutely," Draco replied with a wink as he picked up an apple turnover, "but it works!"

* * *

By six o'clock they were sitting, exhausted, in armchairs they had conjured. The first of the four towers was structurally complete, and they had made a start on the magic foundations for the second. Flitwick came in, and they started up guiltily. He waved them down.

"Please, don't get up; everyone knows you have been very busy, Winky has been extolling your praises to us all for the last two hours! You sit and rest while I go and see how you have done, and what the design looks like."

He looked around, making noises of delight at everything he saw. He came to the staircase up to the first tower, and examined it closely.

"Excellent! Beautiful work!" they heard him exclaim to himself before he floated up the staircase into the completed tower. Harry decided they must have dozed for a few minutes, for it only seemed seconds later that Flitwick returned, clapping his hands with glee.

"Magnificent!" he said. "It is every bit as good as I had hoped! Perhaps even more special! And your progress is astonishing, truly astonishing! You will have all the towers finished in a week at this rate, and I had allowed four weeks to build them! Now, you must tell me, which rooms will you have?"

"We get to choose our own room?" Harry asked, taken aback.

"But certainly!" the older wizard answered. "It is only a fitting reward for such excellent work as this!"

"Can we be together?" Draco asked. It wasn't clear if he was asking Flitwick or Harry; possibly both.

"Yes, please, Professor, could we have the top room facing over the lake?" Harry asked.

"Of course!" Flitwick answered, smiling, making the one answer do for both questions. He swished his wand, and on his blueprint a legend appeared in an ornate box drawn beside the corresponding room:

_* Mr Harry James Potter  
* Mr Draco Lucius Malfoy_

"Now, we can finish here for the day. And for the week as well!" Flitwick continued. "I hope you will have a most pleasant weekend, gentlemen! We will see you on Monday, yes?"

"Of course, Professor," they both said, together.

* * *

That night, as they lay in bed, Harry was concerned at how tense Draco seemed to be.

"Turn over, love," he said, as he undid the blond's pyjama buttons and removed his top. Draco, surprised, wondered what was going on, but complied nevertheless; Harry Accioed some oil from his bedside cabinet, and rubbed his lover's back, using his thumbs to massage deeply up and down his spine. Draco began to moan softly as his muscles unknotted and the tension he was feeling began to melt away.

"Oh, Harry" he murmured, "feels so good …"

"What's worrying you, love?"

Draco looked round at him. "You're really OK with all this?"

"All what?" Harry asked, confused.

"Working with me, being seen at Hogwarts with me, committing to spend the whole school year sharing a room with me. Can you imagine what the _Daily Prophet_ will have to say when they find out about it?"

_Oh_, Harry thought. It just hadn't occurred to him that any of this was a big deal; he didn't really care what anyone else thought. But of course Draco had been schooled his whole life to consider how everything he did would look to other people, so it was second nature for him to be worried about what others would say about their relationship. And, of course, to worry about how Harry would react, and whether he would want to continue.

But Harry Potter had never walked away from anything yet. People had accused him of lying about Voldemort; hell, he still had the scars from Umbridge's quill telling him _I must not tell lies_, when in fact he never had. Well, not about Voldemort, anyway. He hadn't given up when they were all against him then, and he certainly wasn't going to now when his heart was on the line. And he knew Draco needed to hear that.

"I'm not going to give up on you, Draco," he assured the blond. "I love you. I wasn't sure before, and I'm still worried about keeping our relationship honest and not being dictated by the Debt; but I am sure now. Having you in my life is something I want, and I don't care two knuts what anybody says about it. And having you in my bed is one of the most wonderful things that's ever happened, and I want you here. Always."

Draco looked at him, unable to speak for emotion, his eyes glistening with tears. He rolled over onto his back and drew his lover down into a deep kiss, as his hands ranged down the broad back. He broke the kiss, his tongue ranging down Harry's cheek and neck, happily sucking and kissing as the other wizard drew sharp breaths of pleasure, while his fingers found, and quickly undid, the buttons of Harry's shirt. Once they were all undone, Harry took his shirt off and threw it to the floor, then put his glasses on the bedside cabinet out of harm's way for good measure.

They lay together, skin to skin, kissing and rubbing each other. Harry found every scar on his beloved, and smoothed it over with his oily hands. Last of all, he kissed all the way down the Sectumsempra scar.

"You remember I forgave you, right?" Draco said when he had finished.

"Yes," said Harry, but Draco, staring into his eyes, didn't quite believe him.

"Let me show you," he pleaded, slipping his hands inside Harry's shorts. Harry didn't resist, so Draco slipped them off him altogether. He took a little of the oil onto his own hands, and then began to stroke Harry gently.

Harry tried to reciprocate, but Draco wasn't having it.

"Just lie back," he insisted. "This is about you, Harry. You need to know how much I forgive you, how much I just want to bring you pleasure …"

As he spoke, Harry did as he was commanded, lying back and closing his eyes. In his turn, he began to moan at the feeling of being touched so gently, so lovingly. He quickly grew rigid under Draco's tender ministry, and the blond picked up the pace until Harry groaned aloud in warning, then came. As he did, Draco bent down and kissed him, long and lovingly, and Harry, overcome by the moment and the love being shown him, drifted off to sleep.

Draco smiled. He found his wand and whispered a Tergeo to banish the evidence of their love-making, and then cuddled the sleeping Gryffindor in his arms.

* * *

_He was standing in the new Tower, in their new room, when he heard an all-too familiar voice._

"_So, freak!" the hateful voice broke into his sleepy mind. "You think you deserve a room of your own, hey? Why would anybody, even one of those other freaks, waste a nice space like this on you? Get back in your cupboard! That's all you deserve!"_

"_No!" Harry cried. "I don't have to! I have my own house and my own lover! You can't control me any more!" _

_But the pig-eyed man just laughed at him. "Yes, and your lover is a man! You queer! We'll have to beat that out of you!" he said, raising the riding-crop in his hand. _

"_NO!" Harry yelled "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"_

"HARRY!" he heard, as warm hands shook him awake.

"Wha'?" he said, still groggy with sleep. "Where am I?" And then, with surprise, "I'm naked!"

"Hush, Harry, you're here, we're in bed together, I love you, you love me, and you had a nightmare." Draco assured him. "What was it this time?"

"Vernon," Harry said, shuddering at the memory of his uncle.

It was obvious that Harry didn't want to talk about it. Draco decided they would have to, soon, but not now. And since Harry was concerned about being naked, he slipped his own shorts off so they were both nude together, and held Harry tight.

By now, Harry had remembered where he was and what had happened, and he smiled at his lover. "Thank you for waking me," he said; the 'and stopping the nightmare' wasn't said, but Draco heard it anyway. Draco kissed him, a silent promise to be there for him, always.

"I seem to remember I owe you something," Harry continued, caressing Draco tenderly.

"Mmmm…" Draco said. Harry kissed and licked his nipples while continuing to stroke, and Draco quickly became rock-hard. "Oooh, that's nice. Oh … Oh ..." Wanking had never felt this good; the warmth and strength of another's loving hand round his member made him see stars, and he came in Harry's hand.

"Thank you," he whispered. And then Harry, without wand or word, cast Tergeo himself. Draco gasped. There was none of the rough feeling he'd known whenever people had cast cleansing charms on him before; Harry's charm was like being wiped with silk. It was yet more proof of how much he loved him.

"Oh Harry," he moaned in ecstasy, clasping his lover tightly to his chest, and they both fell at last into deep sleep untouched by memories of the past.

* * *

_Saturday, 23 May 1998_

Kreacher's voice rang out, far too early as far as Harry was concerned. A Tempus told him it was seven o'clock. On a Saturday morning. Why did he have to get up?

"Master Harry! Master Draco! Masters must come quickly! The Muggle-born mistress has being Floo-called to say she is coming in an hour! Masters must get up!"

"WHAT!" Draco yelped, leaping out of bed, obviously heading for the bathroom to bathe and dress.

"Stop!" Harry yelled just before he left the room. Draco turned to him, and he looked Draco up and down, "I didn't get a proper look at you last night."

Draco reddened a little, feeling a bit like a specimen on display.

"You're gorgeous," Harry cooed, "and also, you didn't give me a 'Good Morning' kiss."

Draco's heart melted. He went back to his lover and kissed him, nipping him gently, licking those sweet, lovely lips. Harry's mouth opened and their tongues meshed as their arms wrapped around each other.

But sadly, there was the business of the day to attend to; and Draco had always been brought up with 'business before pleasure', so reluctantly he pulled away from the embrace.

"Best not let Granger see us like this," he said.

"Hermione," Harry reminded him. But he did have a point: they were both naked, and if his expression was anything like Draco's, it was all too obvious what they had been doing.

"Hermione," Draco agreed, accepting the correction, then left the room.

* * *

They just made it. As they sat down to ham and eggs, bang on eight o'clock, the Floo in the drawing room two floors above them gave that familiar in-coming noise, and they heard voices calling them.

"Hermione, Ron, George, and Neville!" said Harry, surprised at so many visitors so early.

"It's an invasion!" Draco answered, mock-serious.

Harry smiled at him, and then yelled up the stairs to the others, "We're in the kitchen!"

They heard stomp, stomp, stomp down the stairs and suddenly they were surrounded by the noise and laughter of four very happy people.

"Now why are you four here, and so happy this early in the morning?" Harry asked; though he suspected he could guess.

"WE'RE ENGAGED!" all four of them yelled excitedly at the same time.

"What, all four of you together? Two brothers and two others?" Draco asked.

George burst out laughing as Ron went bright red. "NO, NO!" He yelled. "Hermione and I are engaged to each other!"

"And George and me," Neville continued; George was laughing so hard at the expression on Ron's face that he was unable to speak.

The noise level increased as Harry and Draco rose to congratulate them all, with hugs and kisses for Hermione, and hugs with manly handshakes for Ron, George and Neville.

Hermione proudly showed off an exquisite ring. Draco looked at it appreciatively. "White gold, with topaz," he said, approvingly, "it tones with your hair beautifully. An excellent choice, if I may say so."

Ron beamed at this praise. They asked to see his ring; he blushed and said he didn't have one, being a boy; Hermione pointed out that he was a bit traditional like that.

"He proposed to me in the arbour at the Burrow last night," she said, with a dreamy, soppy look in her eyes that Draco managed, with difficulty, not to giggle at. "Said that he'd always wanted me and would I be his forever?"

"'Course she said no," George said. He got murderous looks from Ron and Hermione, but unrepentantly added, "he can only have her till death, remember? _Forever_ is a bit long…"

"Do you like our rings?" Neville asked, sensing that things were going a little awry. George was a great prankster, but his sense of humour wasn't always a good thing. It wasn't really the time to talk about death …

"Let's see them," Harry answered, and the two men happily showed off two very simple, classic pieces. George had rose-gold, toning with his skin and hair, with a single ruby; Neville's ring was silver with a sapphire, matching George's stone in cut and setting.

"Beautiful," Draco pronounced.

"We're very happy for all four of you," Harry said.

George looked at him fixedly.

"_We_?" He said. "Speaking for both of you, then, little brother? Is there something you want to tell us?" And then, as Harry didn't answer but just went redder, "are you two boy-friends now?"

Harry giggled. "I can't imagine calling Draco my boy-friend," he said, and indeed Draco looked scandalised at the thought. "But yes, we've decided we are lovers."

"Oooh!" Hermione squealed, and now it was Harry and Draco's turn to be engulfed in congratulatory hugs, kisses, and handshakes.

* * *

It turned out that Hermione and Neville had not breakfasted yet, and Ron and George, being Weasleys, were very happy to keep them company while eating, so Kreacher was made very happy preparing mountains more ham and eggs for the men, toast for Hermione, and a seemingly endless supply of tea for all of them. Once they were comfortably fed, Ron and George began a discussion about the upcoming Quidditch match between Norway and Bulgaria. Harry was surprised that such things were still going on, but on reflection was glad that the War hadn't stopped other countries from enjoying themselves.

"Do you think Britain will be competing next year?" he asked.

"Don't see why not, the preliminaries aren't for another few months," Neville answered, and with that the discussion got going in earnest.

Quiddltch really wasn't Hermione's thing, and it was obvious that she felt a bit left out of the conversation; so Draco suggested that the two of them resume reading the books he had brought from the Manor. But when they got to the drawing room, they sat in settees opposite each other and he confessed he really wanted to talk about something else.

"I'm glad I've got you alone," he said. "I want to know how you've been coping with Harry's nightmares and if there's anything I should know to help him with them."

Hermione looked at him blankly. "Nightmares?" she asked. "The last I heard about was one he had on the day of the Battle of Hogwarts. Has he been having more?"

"Every night I've been here," Draco answered, becoming worried. If Harry hadn't had nightmares until he got there, did that mean that Draco was causing them? Was his presence at night somehow upsetting his lover?

Hermione's face echoed his concern. "What have they been about?" she asked.

"Let's think." Draco answered. "Wednesday was about Moody; Thursday … we didn't talk about, but I think he mentioned something about Remus … last night, Vernon. Who is Vernon?" he asked.

"His uncle, Vernon Dursley," Hermione replied. "He treated Harry something shocking; but he never talks about it."

Remembering the vision he had had on the morning of Snape's funeral, Draco asked, "Is he an obscenely fat man with little eyes like pigs'?"

"Yes," said Hermione, surprised. "Have you met him? Or did Harry describe him to you?"

"No to the first, and definitely not the second," Draco said. "He hasn't said very much about the past to me, either; but I think that has to change."

"Oh Draco," she said, "if you can get him to tell you about that, that would be amazing. He doesn't tell anyone about it. He thinks it will hurt us so he keeps it all bottled up inside, causing him pain."

But then she shut up like a trap; and turning, Draco saw why, as Harry came into the room.

"Here you are!" he said brightly. "We've finished discussing Quidditch; sorry to be so dull." He looked at them in turn and asked, "am I interrupting something?"

"No, no," Hermione said, but too quickly.

"I am, aren't I?" He looked at Draco. "What's wrong? You're not thinking of leaving are you?"

_Why did he ask that? _Draco thought to himself. In fact, he had wondered if he should go, to save Harry from having further nightmares. Best to be honest, he decided.

"I'm concerned about your nightmares, Harry. Apparently you only have them when I'm with you."

Harry grabbed him, hugging him tightly. "Don't you dare leave!" he said, his voice tinged with fear. "I couldn't bear not having you here!"

_This is new_, Draco thought. "I told you, Harry, I'm here as long as you want me."

"Then you'll never leave," Harry said, decisively, forcing a smile onto his face. Draco smiled in return.

"Hm-hm," came Ron's voice behind them, and it occurred to them that perhaps they were being a little too intimate for company. Harry let go of Draco and sat beside him on the settee.

"Mum's having a big party tonight," Ron said, obviously making an effort to avoid being embarrassed. "To celebrate two engagements and one mission of mercy."

Harry and Draco looked blank at this, so Hermione added, "that's our going to fetch mum and dad."

"Will you both please come?" Ron continued.

Harry looked happy, but Draco was rather unsure. "Um, do you really think I'd be welcome?" he asked.

"Mum had some invitations made up last night when we told her about the engagements," George said, pushing Ron into the room as the red-head had been inadvertently blocking the door. "When we told her you and Harry were here together, she specially made this one for you," he continued, handing Draco a card of very stiff, formal white parchment, beautifully engraved in the deep crimson ink customarily used by pure-blood families to invite people they respected to share happy occasions.

_Mr and Mrs Arthur Weasley_

_Have great delight in requesting _

_the pleasure of the company of_

_their cousin-in-blood and companion-in-magic_

_Draco Lucius Malfoy_

_At a party to celebrate_

_the engagements of their sons_

_Ronald Bilius Weasley, to Hermione Jean Granger,_

_And_

_George Fabian Weasley, to Neville Francis Longbottom_

_6pm, Saturday, 23 May 1998, at The Burrow_

Draco was stunned. In this simple act, the Weasleys had told him that he was welcome in their family too. For he knew very well that 'cousin-in-blood and companion-in-magic' was the oldest, most formal, pure-blood formula; the Weasleys would not have asked him like that unless they really wanted him to be there.

Here was a chance to bury once and for all the tedious "blood-traitor" nonsense that had dogged their lives. To refuse such an invitation was unthinkable. There was only one thing to do.

He turned to Ron and asked, "May I borrow your owl?"

"Sure," Ron answered, "Pig loves taking letters, don't you Pig?" he asked, turning to the tiny owl, who was sitting on the stand next to the window, preening himself.

The little owl hooted at him excitedly, while Draco made his way to the writing desk, took up a quill and wrote out his reply. As was required by custom, he was careful not to make his writing too beautiful, so that it would be clear he had written it out himself, rather than using magic. He chose the slightly less formal short form of reply, which would show that he appreciated their gesture but did not intend to stand on ceremony.

_Draco Lucius Malfoy_

_Sends warm greetings to _

_Mr and Mrs Arthur Weasley_

_And accepts with pleasure their kind invitation_

_to this evening's celebration._

He rolled up the letter, and Pig, after dancing maniacally, let him attach it, and then flew off to the Burrow.

"Right," he said, smiling. "I'm coming!"

"Brilliant!" Ron said.

Draco stared at him. Ron held his gaze, then, answering the unspoken question, said, "Yes, I really think so. You and Harry are obviously happy together, and seeing my friends happy is a great joy. And mum will be pleased too."

"She will!" Hermione agreed. "And thinking of Molly, we'd better be getting back to the Burrow to help. We've already been gone longer than we said; we only came over to tell you two the news and make sure you came tonight."

With that, she shepherded the three men into the Floo.

* * *

_**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **Thanks to my beta, Bicky Monster._

___I believe it's edited to conform to fanfiction guidelin_es; you can find the unabridged version on archiveofourown dot org.  


_**lovergirl101**: Sorry, bit longer to wait! MPREG is still only an idea, not a certainty, so you'll have to wait and see if it happens._

_**Cherrie-san:** not sure exactly what you mean but I'm hoping it was "I do *love* the fluffiness" in which case, thank you! I wouldn't dare call Draco adorable to his face, though; would you?  
_


	21. Returning to my Father's House in Peace

**21 Returning to my Father's House in Peace**

_Saturday, 23 May 1998_

* * *

_Last time:_

"_Right," he said, smiling. "I'm coming!"_

"_Brilliant!" Ron said._

_Draco stared at him. Ron held his gaze, then, answering the unspoken question, said, "yes, I really think so. You and Harry are obviously happy together, and seeing my friends happy is a great joy. And mum will be pleased too."_

"_She will!" Hermione agreed. "And thinking of Molly, we'd better be getting back to the Burrow to help. We've already been gone longer than we said; we only came over to tell you two the news and make sure you came tonight."_

_With that, she shepherded the three men into the Floo._

* * *

"Mum!" Draco echoed Ron's word, having a sudden shocking thought. "I haven't told mother and father about us!"

"Do you really want to?" Harry asked, a little surprised that Draco would want to tell his parents about his love life.

"Of course!" the blond replied, in a tone that made it clear that he thought the question ridiculous. "After all, word will get around; do you want them learning we're together by reading about it in the _Daily Prophet_?"

"Good point." Harry agreed; then, deciding that some things needed to be done in person, asked, "How about we see if we can visit for lunch?" Draco smiled in reply; it made him happy to learn he had such a thoughtful lover. He reached over and kissed him.

"Kreacher!" Harry called; when the house-elf appeared he asked, "would you go to Malfoy Manor and ask Mrs Malfoy if it would be convenient for Draco and me to come for lunch, please?"

"Of course, Master Harry! Right away!"

Narcissa and Lucius found it very convenient to have Harry and Draco to lunch; Narcissa, at least, was delighted; Lucius was a little cooler and harder to read, but he was at least polite and friendly. It was a beautiful day, and so they decided to eat in the garden, which Harry found much less intimidating than the formal rooms of the Manor.

"How have you been getting on, Dragon?" Narcissa asked Draco.

"Very well!" Draco replied, his eyes darting between his mother and his lover. He explained that they had been working together at Hogwarts on the Eighth Year Tower, but had been sworn to secrecy about the details.

Lucius looked at him strangely. "How have you been doing that without a wand?" he asked.

In answer, Draco produced his hawthorn wand. "I've been using this," he said, simply. "Harry gave it back to me. Again."

Lucius looked at Harry, horrified. "But … he's not supposed to have it before term begins!" he said vehemently. "You're risking imprisonment!"

"No," Harry replied, "I wrote to Doge about it. Now that Draco is staying with me, the Wizengamot has agreed that the second part of his probation can begin straight away, without waiting for term to begin; so Draco has permission to have his wand if I allow it. Which, of course, I do."

"You are a wonderful friend to our Dragon, Harry," Narcissa said.

"Actually, mother, he isn't," Draco said, an evil smirk on his face. Both his parents looked a little dumbfounded at this. "No; we've decided we aren't friends any more, haven't we Harry?"

_Oh great,_ Harry thought. _I get to tell them._ "Um, well, still friends, just more as well."

"You're boyfriends?" Narcissa asked.

"Lovers," Draco corrected her. "'Boyfriends' sounds so … twee."

Lucius took in a sharp breath. He hardly knew what to think. All of his old misgivings about the Debt had immediately surfaced again; and he really didn't want to think about what his son did in bed. But on the other hand, Draco looked happy; happier than he had in years. If they found peace and happiness together, was the Debt really a bad thing? It was obvious that Draco was being treated well by Harry; better than well, if Potter had given him his wand back. _Back again_, as Draco had said.

_Perhaps_, he thought, _Harry really does love him. Perhaps this can work._ And then, because he was, after all, the Slytherin of Slytherins, _perhaps we can make it work for us …_

He lifted his glass, breaking into his first real smile for the day. "Well then, a toast to the happy couple!"

* * *

After that, lunch had been a very pleasant meal. As befitted dining in the garden, it was an informal affair, consisting of platters of bread and cheese and meats, with some olives and dolmades, and a variety of other small treats. Most of them Harry had never seen before, and Narcissa took great delight in introducing him to them, explaining what each one was, and how best to eat it.

The wine Lucius had toasted them with was a different elf-wine to the one Harry had had before; he asked about this.

"The elves make many different wines, Harry, just like the Muggles do. This one is lighter than the one I gave you; more suited to a party out-of-doors during the day, don't you think?"

Harry agreed, enthusiastically. Draco watched his lover carefully; he knew Harry wasn't used to alcohol, and Lucius was; they were having a very lovely time, all at peace together, and Draco wanted to make sure it stayed that way. So when Harry emptied his glass, Draco spelled it full of water before it could be filled with more wine. Harry looked at him quizzically; Draco mouthed 'trust me' at him.

Harry thought about this, and worked out what his lover must be up to. A delicious feeling of being loved and looked after began to draw over him. As he sipped on the water, he found it had a very refreshing, floral flavour to it.

"This is very pleasant, too," he said, surprised by the new flavour.

"It's elderflower," Draco told him. He eyed the raven-head carefully. Harry had obviously had a sheltered upbringing: no alcohol, no exotic foods, not even elderflower cordial, a drink easily made from flowers that grew wild just about everywhere in the south of England. Just exactly what had happened in Harry's childhood? How badly had those people treated him?

"Still a favourite of yours, Dragon, after all these years?" his mother said, her teasing tone breaking into his reverie.

Draco just smiled in reply, but decided it was time to change the subject. "We should have some more toasts; this evening, we are going to a double engagement party."

"Oh how lovely!" Narcissa exclaimed. "Whose?"

"Ron has finally plucked up courage to ask Hermione," Harry answered.

"And what did she say?" said Lucius. But he was only teasing, too, and grinned to show it. "And the other couple?" he asked.

"George Weasley and Neville Longbottom", Draco answered, in quite a matter-of-fact tone.

Harry held his breath. What would the older Malfoy say about this? He thought about what Vernon Dudley would say, and had a picture of his angry face going redder and redder, his voice yelling about 'filth' and 'disgusting' …

But Lucius maintained an absolute composure. "An interesting match," he said, in a tone to match Draco's. "I should imagine that Longbottom must have matured somewhat, after killing Nagini," he continued, shuddering at the remembrance of the awful snake he had lived in fear of for so long. He had been very impressed when he learnt that the boy, whom Draco had always described as 'a bit wet', had had the courage to do what none of the Death-Eaters had dared. "From what you tell me of them, Dragon, I imagine he'll need to have some maturity to be mated to one of the Weasley twins!"

Harry breathed again. It seemed that the wizarding world really was prepared to accept same-sex matches that much more readily than the Muggle one. And he was amazed at how close to the mark Lucius had been in summing up his friends; but then, he had to be good at sizing people up, it was essential in politics.

The conversation continued happily, but it wasn't long before the two young men had to excuse themselves; they did have a party to get ready for, after all. Narcissa insisted on them taking presents for their engaged friends and some flowers from the garden for Molly. Lucius produced more elf-wine for Harry, including some bottles of the one they had had at lunch. Harry said that it was very kind, but he hadn't finished the last lot yet. "You will, soon enough," Lucius replied, and insisted on him taking it.

And so they Flooed back to Grimmauld Place, laden with gifts. Harry was glad for once that the Ministry insisted on protection; Auror Brown, who had accompanied them, had happily carried the wine for him; there was an entire case of a dozen mixed bottles this time.

"Now we had better go to Diagon Alley," Draco said, as soon as everything had been put somewhere safe and the flowers given water.

"Why?" Harry asked; he had planned on spending the afternoon being rather lazy, preferably cuddling in bed with his lover.

"Because," Draco answered, "we are going to a double engagement party this evening, and we have not got presents!"

"Point," Harry answered, reluctantly giving up his idea of a lazy afternoon, and returning to the Floo.

* * *

They emerged from the Floo into Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes to find that Seamus and Dean were minding the shop, the twins and Neville being required to help set up for the party. They were both delighted to see Harry, and while Seamus didn't look pleased that Draco was there, Dean smiled at him.

"I hear you did great work yesterday," Dean said to the blond, while Harry took Seamus aside for a quick word.

"Really? Who said …" Draco started to ask, but was interrupted by the reply.

"Winky! She was so excited! 'Mr Harry Potter is being doing wonderful magics! And Mr Draco Malfoy is too! And so kind to poor Winky!'" Dean said, in a fair imitation of the house-elf's high-pitched voice that had Draco grinning; and Harry, too, as he and Seamus finished their chat and rejoined the other two.

Seamus came up to Draco. "Harry's told me you two are together," he said. He didn't look too pleased at the idea; but seemed to have accepted it anyway. He offered Malfoy his hand. "So I guess we'll all have to get along, yes?"

Draco looked at him for a moment, just to not seem too hasty; then accepted the hand, saying, "I guess we will."

And if it wasn't quite the happy friendship Harry wanted Draco to have with all his friends, it was, at least, a good start, he thought, as they left Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes to go and do the shopping they had actually come for.

* * *

Draco Malfoy, Harry decided, was an incredibly efficient shopper. They had left the Manor a little before two; by three thirty, they had returned to Grimmauld Place with gifts for the two couples, two of which had been made specially, and also half-a-dozen things for Teddy Lupin as well. When Draco suggested it, Harry had felt guilty for not thinking of it himself (of course) but Draco had scolded him (of course), smacking him over the head with the set of magic self-stacking blocks they had bought, and told him that he knew perfectly well Andy would skin him alive for saying it. Harry accepted that yes, Andy would have hollered if she wanted him; Draco told him that she certainly did so enough to Narcissa, who visited her sister most days.

To assuage Harry's guilt, though, Draco did suggest they went and visited for afternoon tea. Harry was a little shocked; he rather gathered that Draco had never visited Andy precisely to avoid being shouted at, so he felt a little shy about forcing him into the situation. But Draco insisted; and Andromeda was delighted when Harry Floo-called to ask if they could come over.

"Of course, Harry. But you say 'we'; who else is coming? Do you still have to have an auror?"

"Um, yes, but actually, I meant Draco."

"Draco Malfoy is coming? To my house? Willingly?" Andromeda replied, a little taken aback. She'd rather gathered that her nephew was more than a little afraid of her.

"Yes, he suggested it," Harry answered, not quite sure why she'd asked.

Andy's face broke into a smile. "Then you're both very welcome. Come at once."

* * *

"Draco Malfoy, let me look at you," his aunt demanded.

Draco did, standing quite still while she inspected him. He was still not quite sure about her; but if Harry and he were together then he was going to have to get used to Andromeda and Teddy. It seemed, though, that he passed the inspection.

"Well, young man, I am very glad that you have come over," she said. "You are, of course, welcome to come to my house whenever you like. As is Harry, but I should hope he's worked that out by now."

"Thank you," said Draco, a touch mechanically; but Andromeda could see that he was coming to terms with the idea of an aunt who wasn't terrifying, as Bellatrix had been, or to be snubbed, as she had been. So she smiled at him, gently, and offered them tea.

It seemed that Narcissa had already told her about the engagements, and the party; Andromeda was careful to make it clear she did not expect a long visit. They sat happily together, the two boys passing

Teddy from one to the other for cuddles. The baby was delighted; he started up a lovely game of changing to match whichever of the two was holding him. Draco was very proud when his cousin's hair went silver; he tickled the little boy, getting a pretty giggle for his efforts.

"He's very advanced for his age," Harry remarked.

"Of course, he's a Black," Andromeda said. Seeing Harry look blank, she continued, "Black family babies have always matured very quickly, Harry; and Metamorphmagi too. He might be barely two months old, but he's probably developed as much as any normal six-month-old baby. I remember Dora was a nightmare around his age! She was already starting to crawl, could do it properly by three months. Ted was amazed at her development, wanted to write it up, but of course I forbad it. You can't use your own family as experimental subjects!"

They gathered that she hadn't been told about their relationship; Narcissa had obviously felt that was for them to do. They'd been there for half an hour when she put her head on one side, thoughtfully; the sickle had obviously dropped.

"You're together now, aren't you?" she asked.

"Is it really that obvious?" Harry asked.

"When you know what to look for, yes," the witch replied, with a smile. "I'm very happy for you; though I shall have to have a word with my sister for keeping such things from me."

Draco looked at her, mystified. "I'd been so frightened of you," he confessed, "I thought you'd hate me. But I think I missed out on a friend."

Andromeda smiled, her heart warming to this boy who'd never really had loving family beyond his parents. "Not entirely," she promised, "we'll just have to be good friends from now on to make up for it."

Draco couldn't help himself; he hugged her. And he found himself crying as she hugged him back.

"Not a word to anyone," he admonished them both, ashamed to have been a cry-baby in front of his aunt.

"I understand," Andromeda replied, her eyes twinkling. "Malfoy men don't cry, do they Harry?"

"What? Oh, no, never," Harry agreed, cottoning on just in time.

* * *

They returned to Grimmauld Place at twenty to five. Harry privately thought they were cutting it a bit fine, given how long Draco could take to get ready; but the blond astonished him this time. A little before half-past five, he was all done and groomed, and Harry thought they were ready to go.

No such luck.

"No, Harry, you can't go to a proper Wizarding party in t-shirt and jeans, even if you do put robes over them," he said, spelling Harry's clothes off him. He found the clothes he had lent Harry for Lucius's trial, beautifully cleaned and wrapped, hanging at the back of Harry's wardrobe; Kreacher had of course put them there, and Harry had of course forgotten all about them. He started to apologise for doing so, but was promptly cut off.

"If I'd wanted my clothes back, Harry," he scolded, "I would have asked for them. I knew perfectly well where they were, and you weren't going to lose them or damage them."

"You sound just like your aunt," Harry complained, pouting. But Draco only laughed. He'd come a long way, he realized, going from being afraid of Andromeda, through befriending her, to accepting being compared to her.

Twenty minutes later, Harry was dressed to Draco's satisfaction, so that by ten to six they were quite ready to leave. Harry looked at himself in the mirror, and gasped.

"OK, I admit it," he said, "you have incredible taste and style, Mr. Malfoy"

"Thank you!" Draco said; but Harry wasn't finished.

"Of course, everyone can tell that; you picked me …"

"Twat!" Draco said, slapping his arm; but there was no heat in it. Harry remembered the slap at the Lupins' funeral; while he had needed that, he was grateful they'd moved on from there.

"Shall we go?" he asked. And they did.

* * *

"Harry! How lovely to see you! And Draco, welcome!" said Molly, rushing to pull them away from the Floo and wrapping them both in a huge hug. Harry could feel his lover stiffen; he wasn't used to such exuberance. Harry rubbed his back and whispered, "relax" as he kissed Draco's ear; the blond put his arm across Harry's back, evidently taking strength from him, and smiled at his hostess.

"Thank you for inviting me, Mrs. Weasley."

"Oh fiddlesticks!" Molly said to him. "Don't you go 'Mrs. Weasley'ing me, young man. You may call me Molly, since I'm sure you won't want to call me 'mum', which you're welcome to do if you're going to be with my seventh son here. Now, go out into the garden and have some champagne and enjoy yourselves. I'll be along presently, I just have to finish the canapés. No, Harry, I don't want any help, and you don't have to carry them, there's nothing wrong with my levitation charms as you very well know. Off you go and have fun!"

By the time Molly had finished speaking, which she seemed to manage to do without needing to draw breath, they found themselves propelled into the garden, where they found people chatting in groups on the lawn, with tables and chairs set up in a large marquee for those who preferred to sit. There was that lovely buzz made by a group of people, very fond of one another, getting together on a happy occasion.

Draco turned to Harry, still stunned by the greeting he had received from Molly Weasley.

"Is she always like that?"

Harry looked at him blankly. "Is she always like what?" he asked. "Oh, um, no, she's a bit preoccupied I think. But isn't she wonderful?"

Draco thought about that for a moment. He realized that a large part of his shock was that he simply hadn't expected such a warm, gushing welcome; his own family and friends would never behave in such a direct way. But why not? If it was sincere, and he was quite sure that Molly was, there was nothing wrong with it. He looked at Harry, whose face was glowing after the welcome. _He needs it_, he realized. If Harry needed that level of comfort and physical interaction, it was no wonder he wanted Draco in his bed so badly.

He was shaken from his reverie by George and Neville bouncing up to them.

"Here, little brother, you can't stand there gaping like a fish," George told him, handing him a glass of champagne. Simultaneously, Neville handed Draco one, and gave him a smile.

_Just a smile. A simple, plain, ordinary old smile_, Draco told himself. But it wasn't. It was warm, and welcoming. A smile without guile. The smile of a man who knew his own mind, knew what he wanted, and was well on the way to getting it. The smile of a generous man who wanted those around him to be happy, and with a shock Draco realized that that included him. _Neville Longbottom actually cares about me!_ He thought to himself.

"Um, Neville," he said, in a casual voice that didn't fool anyone present, "there's something I've been meaning to ask you about …"

"Of course, Draco," the tall, dark, handsome man replied, easily. He pointed out an empty table in a quiet corner of the marquee. "Let's go and sit over there and chat."

Harry was surprised to see Draco drawn into the party so easily; he had been concerned that he would feel like a salamander out of fire, and want to stay with Harry the whole time. Not that there was anything wrong with having Draco by his side; but Draco feeling relaxed around Harry's friends was better still.

Harry wandered around the garden, greeting many old friends. He was glad to find out that the Creeveys had been invited – "very kind of Arthur and Molly to think of us," Mrs Creevey had said – and of course all of their friends from Hogwarts. Augusta Longbottom greeted him warmly, and asked him if he thought George and Neville would really work.

"Yes, I do," he answered, sincerely. "They seem very much in love, do you not think?"

"Yes," the old witch admitted, "yes, I suppose I can see that. I did worry that he was marrying a shop-keeper; but these old-fashioned ideas don't count for much these days. Frank and Alice would be proud of him, I'm sure, and that and his happiness are all that really matters, I suppose."

"Harry! Harry Potter!" he heard a voice call out.

Turning towards the direction of the voice, he spotted Ron and Hermione chatting to various people, including the elderly lady who had called. With a start, he recognised Great-Aunt Muriel. He'd seen her at Bill and Fleur's wedding, of course, but she hadn't seen him – he'd been pretending to be the mythical cousin Barny Weasley. But now the kneazle was out of the bag: she'd spotted him, and was bellowing his name at him. He groaned, and made his way over to the group.

"Well, aren't you going to introduce me?" she demanded of Ron as Harry walked up.

"Oh, yeah, right," Ron said, as he remembered that Harry had been in disguise when they had met before. "Um, Great-Aunt Muriel, this is my friend Harry Potter: Harry, this is mum's aunt Muriel."

"Delighted to meet you, ma'am," Harry said, very politely, giving a small bow.

"Hmm," said Muriel, somewhat mollified by Harry's manners. "Well, Ronald, I'm glad to see that some of your friends know how to behave. I hope it rubs off on you."

Harry just managed to hold in the snort of laughter that rose as she said this.

"That's very kind," he said, gravely. He heard Hermione snorting, and dared not look at her; he was sure they would both fall about with laughter if he did.

"Well, of course I should be kind to you," Muriel said, somewhat grumpily. "After all, Rita Skeeter seems to think the world of you, so there must be some good in you. Even if you can't seem to groom yourself properly. Who did your hair like that?"

Harry was stunned into silence. _Rita Skeeter thinks the world of me, _he thought; _since when?_ But the answer came easily enough – since he'd defeated Voldemort; she'd gushed about him. Muriel, he remembered, loved Rita's writing; she probably simply didn't remember that there was a time when the Prophet accused him of being insane, or evil.

Into the silence, a familiar voice broke. "I did," Draco said, coming forward and extending his hand. "Good evening. I'm Draco Malfoy and I'm delighted to meet you."

Muriel flinched slightly, looking as though he had challenged her with his wand, not an open hand.

"Draco Malfoy?" she all but shrieked. "I don't know how you dare to show your face in public, you, you …" Words failed her for a moment; not longer than that, unfortunately. "I read all about you in the _Daily Prophet!_ And saw that photograph –very suspicious, very suspicious indeed. Molly!" she did shriek now, looking around for her niece, "Molly! Oh there you are."

"Yes, Aunt Muriel?" said Molly Weasley, coming up to them quickly and looking very concerned. "Is there a problem?"

"What is this dreadful man doing here, and why isn't he in Azkaban?" she demanded in a loud voice. Everyone seemed to quieten at this; clearly, all ears were on the elderly lady, and the guests were all wondering what would happen next.

Something inside Harry snapped. He wasn't putting up with this from anyone. "He's here because he's my date, Great Aunt Muriel," he said, forcing out the name through gritted teeth as he fought to keep his temper under control. "He isn't in Azkaban because he doesn't deserve to be. He deserves to be honoured for his help during the Wizarding War, not yelled at and called suspicious. I'm sorry to say so, but not everything Rita Skeeter writes is the honest truth."

"WHAT?" Muriel demanded. "Molly, how can you have someone saying such things in your house? Where's Arthur, he should be here to take you down a peg or two, young man," she finished, glaring at Harry.

"There, there, Aunt," Molly said, soothingly, steering her to a chair. "You're getting a little overwrought. You just sit down for a minute and relax, there's a dear."

Muriel complained at being fussed over, but really she seemed happy to be the centre of Molly's attention; which is probably why she didn't suspect a thing as a gentle Sleeping charm was placed on her. Soon she was snoring quietly.

"Most peaceful she's been all night." George observed.

"George!" said his mother, in reprimand, but secretly she agreed. She turned to Harry and Draco.

"Draco, I'm sorry for my aunt's wicked old tongue. Harry, well done for standing up to her. But I'm afraid nothing is likely to change her view of Rita Skeeter."

"That's all right, Mrs – Molly," Draco assured her. "And elderly relatives misbehaving is just part of a family party, isn't it? Thinking of the party, Harry, being an engagement party, do you think we could ..."

"Oh!" said Harry. "Ron, Hermione, George, Neville, we found you these."

He fished a minute parcel out of his pocket and placed it on the table next to him. A quick Engorgio, without wand or words, produced four packages; he handed one to each of the four.

Hermione opened hers first, and gasped. In her hand she held a tiara, in filigree rose gold, set with topazes that matched her engagement ring, and rubies that offset them beautifully.

"That's amazing!" she said. "I'd expected a book, which would have been wonderful, of course; but this is the first piece of jewellery anyone but Ron and my parents has ever given me."

"Told you she'd love it," Draco whispered to Harry.

"We thought this would go with it nicely," Harry said, sheepishly producing another parcel and going rather red after Hermione's comment. The parcel contained (what else?) a book: _On Gemstones, their Meanings and Use in Magic_. Hermione, intrigued, started reading it straight away.

"'Mione," Ron said, interrupting her reading, "you can read that later. But the headdress is beautiful! Please put it on and show us."

She was not normally one for such girly things; but if ever there was a time for it, it was at her engagement party, so she did, and Ron Summoned a mirror. Hermione looked at her reflection in it; and for once she was speechless. But not for very long; it seemed that at some point the twins had got to that mirror, and tried out their Anti-Vanity Potion on it, so after a few seconds she gave a loud "Harrumph" as her face went green.

"Right, which one of you did it?"

"You wouldn't hit a man on his engagement party, would you?" George asked, cowering.

"Yes," Hermione said, menacingly.

"In that case, it was Fred," George said. The others burst out laughing.

"That's my fearless big brother!" Harry said, mockingly, and pulled the twins into an embrace to shield him, saying, "don't worry, I'll protect you!"

At this, even Hermione laughed.

Ron's present was a silver men's bracelet, with a single ruby made to look like a bludger, and a topaz fashioned into the form of a snitch. In his turn, Ron was speechless to be given such a thoughtful gift.

Neville's gift was easily the largest of the four; a rather rare wizarding plant, Snapping Heliotrope. Neville was beside himself, and pulled out a pen from his pocket, stroking the flowers, which responded by snapping at the pen, showing why the plant has its name.

"Heliotrope for devotion!" he said. "And snapping to remind me to watch out for George's temper! How appropriate!"

"Cheeky sod," George said, punching him gently on the shoulder.

"You love me," Neville said.

"I do," George agreed.

"And also these," Harry said, handing George and Neville two matching boxes, containing cufflinks made from the mineral heliotrope.

"Harry, these gifts are amazing," Ron said, "you must have thought about them for ages."

Harry could hardly keep a straight face. "Actually," he confessed, "Draco thought of them. I was thinking of some joke gifts, but he talked me out of it. He wanted you to know that we take your engagements very seriously, and," and here Harry turned to his lover, "you were absolutely right."

With which, Harry kissed Draco on the cheek, saying softly, "thank you, love you so much."

_Is there no end to the soppiness today?_ Draco asked himself; but there were tears in his eyes too, as he smiled at them all.

* * *

The party was in full swing, and everyone was having a great time, when Ron, harking back to Muriel's earlier comment about Arthur, realised that he couldn't remember seeing him all evening.

"Mum," he asked, "where is dad?"

Molly let out a sigh. "Your father was called into an urgent conference with the Minister at four o'clock. Four o'clock on the day of your engagement party! It's a good thing I love Kingsley like a brother, I could cheerfully strangle him for that!"

"Oh, I hope not," said a deep voice behind them; and there was the Minister himself. He apologised to each of the guests of honour in turn: "I'm very sorry, Ron, Hermione, George, Neville, for stealing Arthur away on your special day; and to you too, of course, Molly. I hope it's in order for me to gatecrash the party to apologise?"

"Well," Neville said, speaking for them all, "not everyone gets the Minister for Magic gatecrashing their engagement party, so I'd say we're honoured, and happy to accept your apology."

At this point, a tray of drinks, levitated by Hermione, nudged itself against the Minister. Kingsley laughed, and took glasses of champagne, handing them around, and the conversations around the marquee started up again.

"Thank you," said Draco, sidling up to Harry and whispering in his ear, "for defending me against that spiteful old –"

"Draco," Harry hissed, "please! She is, but it doesn't do to say so."

Draco smirked, and kissed him gently on the cheek.

"I did hear Harry right, didn't I?" a voice said softly behind him. "You're his date?"

Draco turned and stepped over to Ginny. She smiled at him, seeing for herself that it was true. "I'm so pleased," she said, surprising Draco as she wrapped him in a hug; _more soppiness, _he thought, but in true he was starting to see that the Weasleys were an affectionate lot. In truth, he didn't really mind; but it was going to take some getting used to. "He needs you, Draco," she told him.

"Thank you," the blond said, hugging back, then letting go. He'd been told that already tonight; he was almost beginning to accept it. "I need him, too. But don't tell him, OK?"

"I think he already knows," she said, squeezing his hand. "Do you remember Fleur, from the Triwizard Tournament? She married Bill. Come and meet her cousins, they've come all the way from Paris and I think they find us a bit too suburban for their tastes," she continued, leading him away.

* * *

While Ginny was talking to Draco, Arthur and Kingsley surrounded Harry.

"Harry, we need to talk," Arthur said, with an urgent tone in his voice that told Harry this wasn't going to be a pleasant chat. His heart sank. Couldn't he have one night of pure joy?

"Can you come into the house please?" Arthur continued.

_Apparently not_, Harry thought to himself, gloomily. He nodded. "Is this about the meeting this afternoon?"

"Yes," Kingsley said, but it was clear that he would not elaborate further in public. With some reluctance, Harry followed them into the house.

* * *

Draco Malfoy could not remember a party like it. Despite not having a single one of his own friends there, he had thoroughly enjoyed himself. He thought back over the long conversation he had had with Neville; the boy who had always cowered from him had become a man who was now so easy with him, and they were, Draco felt sure, friends now.

Neville had happily told him all about the Battle of Hogwarts, giving him a new insight into the incredible bravery of Harry Potter and making him wonder all the more that Harry wanted him. But then Neville had said that bravery wasn't just big acts.

"Slapping 'the Saviour' when he needed it, that was brave, too, Draco," he had said. Draco had had no idea what to say, but Neville had sensed his embarrassment, and, placing his hand on his shoulder, said simply, "Draco, you're OK, mate."

"Look after him," Neville had said, "You'll always have us to help, but you're really special to him; he needs you."

Ginny had taken him to meet Fleur's relatives, who very much appreciated being introduced to a handsome, well-mannered pure-blood; the Malfoy name was still highly thought of in France, it seemed. He had spent a very pleasant half-hour speaking to them in French, a language he knew well but rarely got to practise. Some of them were a little upset to learn that he was spoken for, to be sure, but they all agreed that he and Harry made a cute couple.

And now he wondered where Harry might be. He hadn't seen him since the episode with Muriel, he realised; he noticed that she was still asleep; either old age was catching up with her, or Molly had used a very strong charm. Probably both.

"Has anyone seen Harry?" he asked the company at large.

"I think he might have gone inside," Fred answered. "Come to think of it, so did Dad and Kingsley. I bet they've gone all serious. Go and find him, Draco, mate, and give him a big squeeze and tell him the cool kids want to see him."

Draco laughed. He could hear the fun in Fred's voice, but also the deep love and concern he had for his 'little brother'. He was learning that all of these people accepted Harry and loved him a very great deal; what surprised Draco was that they also accepted him, and recognised that he had a part to play in Harry's life. They saw that he was close to Harry in a way that they were not; and, incredibly, they seemed to be OK it, with not a shred of jealousy or bad feeling. And suddenly, he worked out what that really meant. As a Slytherin, he was always looking for an ulterior motive; but the Weasleys didn't have one. They loved Harry, they could see Harry loved him, and so, despite the blood battles of generations, despite his own actions and cruelty to them in the past, they forgave him; more, they loved him. And another realization astonished him.

Draco Malfoy was beginning to love the Weasleys.

* * *

As Draco went to go into the house to find the serious trio, Harry came out.

"Been missing you, love," Draco said, keeping his voice light. "The cool kids say they want to see you."

Harry snorted, remembering Fred using that term to Neville at the Lupins' funeral.

"That's funny," he said, "I thought I was the cool kid."

"Not," sang out Fred, as he, George and a group of others came out of the marquee, having decided to be close at hand when Draco and Harry emerged, "if you run away and hide with the boring old farts!"

"Fred!" his mother scolded, rather half-heartedly.

"It's all right, Molly," Arthur said, as he and Kingsley came out of the house. "We shouldn't have stolen Harry, and Fred has every right to berate us for it. Harry, don't worry, alright? We'll sort some things out tomorrow or Monday. But now, it's time to celebrate!"

Arthur winked at Fred, who whipped out his wand and waved it in an intricate pattern. From its tip, light came forth, then grew, and then became magical fireworks, shooting into the air, exploding in a riot of colours.

There were plenty of 'ooh's and 'ah's. A good deal more champagne was drunk, toasts given, laughs laughed.

At eleven o'clock, Aunt Muriel woke up with a start, and demanded to know what was going on. Bill went up to her, and told her it was the engagement party, and that she'd been having a wonderful time.

"Yes, yes, wonderful time," she accepted, still not quite with it as Bill offered to Floo her home.

"Thank you," she said. "Nice young man. Not like that silly whassisname, Potty character …"

"Now, now, Aunty, it's been a lovely party, don't spoil it," Bill said, jollying her along and getting her inside to the Floo. By a miracle, no-one else heard her nasty reference to Harry, and Bill managed to get her home and extricate himself back to the party without further incident.

At this point, Harry and Draco sought out Molly and thanked her for a marvelous party. Of course, she invited them to stay; but Draco assured her he could help Harry through the Floo, and suggested she didn't need them underfoot if Hermione and Ron were to get away in good time tomorrow.

Molly looked at him, her face showing she knew it was a polite excuse; but in truth, she accepted that he would be more comfortable without the whole Weasley tribe around him. So, to his great surprise, she kissed them both good-bye.

He was still in shock when they got home. Harry looked at him, concerned.

"All right, love?" he asked.

Draco grinned at him. "Yes, thank you. I've had a wonderful night. Let's go to bed."

And so they did.

* * *

_**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **__Interested readers are invited to trace the chapter's title to its source for themselves._

_Apologies for such a monster of a chapter!_

_Grateful thanks to my beta, Bicky Monster, for help in sorting out the mess this started as!_

**_MirrorFlower and DarkWind _**"_i hope that draco can get harry to talk about his relatives he needs it" - I agree, and I intend for it to happen, but it might take a while for Harry to build up the courage._

_**Cherrie-san: **You wrote "Yes I do the fluffy-ness"; I think you meant "do like" or "do love"? I'm sorry to hear you need cold meds, I hope they are working for you. I'm sure that the Haussmann shield will play a further part in the story. I think you would have to run fast to beat Draco's hexes!_

**_lovergirl101: _**_"i hope harry opens up to draco for his own good" - again, yes, but it will take time.  
"Draco is so sweet love the way he is trying for harry." - me too!  
"Still love this story so much cant wait for the next chapter :-) please hurry" - here you are!  
_

_**Mayle:** Thank you for your marathon list of reviews! A couple of comments:  
_

_1. The carrots came at lunchtime, I believe. The Malfoys must be fond of them for lunch, Narcissa offered them to Harry earlier.  
2. I have a lot of fun with the twins, I'm glad you like it.  
3. Obsession? Let's not go there, shall we?_


	22. Enemies Returning, Friends Departing

**22 Enemies Returning, Friends Departing**

_Sunday, 24 May 1998_

His plans were ripening nicely.

That oh-so-useful and resourceful Auror had spread about the rumour that he might use that imbecile Goyle, so the Ministry was wasting several Aurors on round-the-clock guard duty. But he had no such plans; he was not such a fool. Nor was he about to try to attack the house at Grimmauld Place; for one thing, he had developed a very healthy respect for Alastor Moody over the years, and since Mad-Eye had had a hand in the wards, he was sure that they would have some nasty surprises for a Death Eater.

No, his intended ambush location was hardly guarded at all; in fact, the Ministry had even weakened some of the wards for him. He smiled at this. His Lord would have been very proud of him. Of course, he had to bide his time; the place was set, but the date had to be watched carefully. He knew when it should be, of course; but relying on those who had betrayed the Dark Lord already was clearly a stupid idea. But he could watch, and wait; he would be ready.

The only problem he foresaw with waiting was that his confederates might be discovered. But Yaxley was an old hand; no-one knew enough for their capture to destroy the plan altogether. This was especially important, he knew, now that he had learnt of Snape's treachery and the potion he had brewed. That was a severe blow: it had taken months, but they had finally worked out how to defeat Veritaserum. The new potion rendered all that work useless.

He had warned his Lord repeatedly about Snape; Yaxley had always thought his loyalty was too good to be true. And he had a good deal of respect for his skills. He might have hated the old bat (and he knew perfectly well that the feeling was mutual) but the man had been a genius at Potions. He took very little comfort from the fact that his mistrust had been right: he would rather have been wrong, and his Lord not betrayed.

Still, he couldn't change the past; he would have to work to change the future. And a certain young man was in his sights. A certain young man with less than two weeks to live, if he had his way …

* * *

Draco woke early. Harry was fast asleep beside him, snoring gently. He gazed at his lover's face with fond affection, his mind going back to the morning just over three weeks ago when he had sat with a sleeping Harry on that chaise-longue back at Hogwarts.

How much had happened since then! He felt in many ways that he wasn't the same person any more; his life had changed more in the last three weeks than in the previous year. And very much for the better. He remembered that the person he was then had thought that Harry awake was a prat, and asleep was adorable. He smiled; Harry was never a prat, he knew that now. He was kind, and warm, and ferocious about his friends. But adorable? Yes, he still thought so.

He stroked the dark hair lovingly. Harry murmured in his sleep, but didn't wake up. The elf-wine and champagne seemed to have combined to give him a full night's sleep for once: to Draco's very great relief, there had been no nightmares last night.

A Tempus showed him it was a little after seven o'clock. It didn't really matter what the time was; Draco was wide awake now, and knew he wasn't going to get any more sleep. He slipped out of bed, careful not to wake Harry, and went to have a shower.

* * *

At quarter past eight, Draco was sitting in the drawing room, considering the next round of renovation spells that would be needed for Grimmauld Place. When Kreacher had asked him what he wanted for breakfast, his mind had gone back to the evening before, remembering the delightful French ladies he had chatted to; in deference to the memories, he now sat eating a continental breakfast: drinking a cup of café-au-lait and munching his way through a plate of croissants with raspberry jam which Kreacher had been delighted to get for him.

He heard the chime of a Floo-call, and it wasn't long before Arthur Weasley's face appeared.

"Oh, Draco," he said. "Good morning. Is Harry about?"

"No sign of him yet, sir," Draco answered.

"Good heavens, lad, call me Arthur; everyone does. I wanted to discuss the security arrangements for this afternoon, when Hermione and Ron fly out. Will you be coming to farewell them?"

Draco started. "Um, we haven't discussed this; but I guess, if I'm welcome, I would like to," he said, only discovering as he said it that it was true.

"Oh good," Arthur said. "I must say, you do seem to be getting on well with my family. I'm very glad to see that, both at a personal level as their father, and politically in my position as the Deputy Minister. Actually, Draco, I would like a little word with you if I may. Do you mind if I step through?"

Draco was a bit taken aback. Did he mind if the Deputy Minister stepped through? Would he dare say 'yes, actually, I do?' Would **anyone** dare?

Of course not. "Please do, Arthur," he replied.

Arthur came through and smiled warmly at Draco.

"Can I get you anything?" Draco asked, suddenly conscious of his coffee and pile of croissants.

"Oh, some tea and toast would be very nice, thank you," he replied. "But please, don't trouble, I'll do it. Kreacher!" he called.

Kreacher appeared with the inevitable pop.

"Yes Master Weasley, how can Kreacher be serving?"

"Some tea and toast, please."

"Yes of course, Master Weasley. Would Master be wanting orange marmalade?"

"Yes, if there's some left."

Kreacher looked horrified, and answered rather indignantly, "Kreacher is knowing the masters love marmalade! Master Weasley, like Master Harry, is wanting thick-cut, and Mistress Weasley thin-cut! Kreacher is always making sure there is plenty of both!"

"Oh, I'm sorry to offend," Arthur replied, and Draco marveled at how easily the tone of a superior apologising graciously to an inferior came to him now, "it really is delightful that you take such care of us, Kreacher."

"Thank you, Master Weasley!" the elf answered, mollified, and popped away. Arthur sat opposite Draco, and they chatted about the party for a moment, until Kreacher brought what was, in fact, Mr Weasley's second breakfast.

"Thank you, Kreacher, that will be all for the present," Arthur said, kindly but firmly, and the elf bowed and left them.

"Now, Draco, I'm very glad you were acquitted. A good decision, I'm sure," Arthur began.

"Thank you, sir," said Draco, lapsing into formality at such a stuffy opening.

Arthur sighed. "I hope we can be friends," he said, to Draco's very great surprise.

"I'd like that," the blond confessed.

"Good. Then I'll try to avoid being stuffy, and you can try to avoid calling me 'sir', alright?"

Draco smiled. "Yes, Arthur," he said, trying the name for practice. It seemed strange, but he'd get used to it.

"Excellent!" Arthur replied, smiling warmly. "As I'm sure you remember, Kingsley, Harry and I had a long chat yesterday at the party. I got into a lot of trouble with Molly for that, by the way." There was a short pause; he was clearly remembering the trouble; rather ruefully, by the look on his face. "Did Harry discuss the conversation with you at all?" he continued.

"No," Draco admitted slowly, taking time to think back. "No, during the rest of the party he was just being friendly and chatting about nothing in particular; and when we got home we were both so tired we went to sleep almost straight away."

Draco didn't feel that Arthur needed to know what they'd got up to during that 'almost'. He was only just able to stop himself smiling at the memory; he was sure that Arthur would guess if he saw that!

"Ah," said Arthur, "I suppose that's a good thing, really, as we did him not to tell anyone. And I'm glad he's getting some sleep. The poor boy obviously needs it; anyone can see that. Though he did look a whole lot better rested, and quite a bit happier with himself, last night, which Hermione tells me is down to you."

"Thank you," Draco murmured, surprised three times: that Hermione thought so; and that she'd told Arthur so; and that Arthur would tell him. He might, he thought, be become more Gryffindor day-by-day (if that really meant anything), but he couldn't help that he still thought like a Slytherin; the habitual openness of Harry and his friends could still amaze him.

"Yes, we told him not to tell, which is important advice in general; but I do think we should tell you. Firstly because of how close the two of you are, and secondly because it does actually concern you rather directly. You see, we've learnt a bit more about Yaxley's plans."

"Yaxley's plans?" Draco echoed, becoming interested. As a former Death Eater, and the son of one, he knew that Yaxley being at large could spell trouble for everyone – even the Malfoys, if he viewed them as traitors. Which would be fair enough, he supposed; in Voldemort's eyes, they had been. And Death Eaters didn't really care about 'fair enough', anyway. They'd go after him for sport, even if they didn't have a better reason.

"As you can probably guess, the last week has been very busy at the Ministry, and especially for the Wizengamot, what with the Death Eater trials continuing all week. Fortunately, eight of them pleaded guilty straight off, which meant a great saving of time for everyone. Some of them tried to avail themselves of the Potter Code, to try to get a second chance; but the ones who had broken out of Azkaban got sent straight back anyway, which basically means they're all imprisoned, or kissed; except for Yaxley, MacNair, who has managed to evade capture this far, and Goyle."

"Goyle?" Draco asked, "Greg's father? What's happened to him?"

"He's shattered," Arthur answered, bluntly. "A broken man, sent home out of compassion. But he can barely speak now, and his magic is all but gone. He has two house-elves, I gather, and is being visited by Aurors daily to make sure he isn't getting up to mischief; but the main concern is that Yaxley might find a use for him."

"And Greg?"

"He's been remanded in custody for using the Cruciatus curse at Hogwarts; but I imagine he'll claim he was under orders from the Carrows, -"

"Which he was," Draco pointed out. They may not be on good terms at the moment, but Greg was still his friend, and Draco was determined to stick by him, even if that was not reciprocated. _Harry really is rubbing off on me,_he thought, rather ruefully. But it was an unfortunate choice of phrase; the memory of last night, when that was exactly what had happened, came back again, and this time he couldn't keep from smiling.

Fortunately, Arthur seemed to be oblivious. "Yes, so he may get let off; but he hasn't come to trial yet. Anyway, in the course of testimony over the last ten days we have learnt a few things. It seems certain that Yaxley has an Auror, possibly two, working for him; we think he has an Imperius curse operating that the Ministry can't detect. You may remember it was Yaxley who managed to put Pius Thicknesse under the Imperius curse; that, I can assure you, must have taken some doing, as Pius was a very strong wizard."

"Was?" Draco asked.

"Yes, he fell apart after the Battle of Hogwarts when the curse was broken, and has been practically comatose ever since. The staff at St Mungo's have examined him quite closely; a vast array of very clever charms has been used on him, some of which hid the Imperius long enough for him to become Minister without suspicion. So if the same, or similar, charms are operating on Aurors, we'll need to work out how to detect and remove them. Which is taking time."

"Why are you telling me all this, Arthur?" Draco asked, mystified at the trust being shown him. "I'm a former Death Eater myself, after all."

"A _former_ Death Eater," Arthur repeated, adding his own stress. "Which is not by itself evidence of any crime, as the Potter Code insists, as of course you remember. And you have been acquitted of most criminal acts; the probation is more in the nature of a sop to the die-hards than a real punishment, I believe. But anyway, I'm telling you all this because it concerns you personally. Because the second important thing we've learnt is that you are most probably Yaxley's primary target."

"Me?" Draco said, aghast. "Why me?"

"We believe he is incensed with your mother. He knows, everybody knows, that she lied to Voldemort about Harry being dead; which, as Harry testified, changed the War completely. From what we can piece together, he practically worshipped Voldemort, is still fixated on him, and believes that he was the best thing to happen to Wizarding kind, and hates your mother with a great passion for betraying him. We're very much afraid that he's decided the best way to punish her is to kill you and leave her alive to grieve your death."

"Oh!" said Draco, horrified. He could see at once that this would utterly devastate his mother; in Death-Eater logic it made a perfect punishment for her. "Then I should leave here! I'm likely to draw them to Harry!"

Arthur's heart went out to the boy. He was pleased and surprised to hear that Draco's immediate concern was for Harry, not for himself. Proof that he really did love the man Arthur thought of as his seventh son. But if Draco wasn't concerned for himself, Arthur was. He was, he thought, growing to love the blond for himself, and not just for Harry's sake.

"On the contrary," Arthur assured him. "Firstly, this place is one of the most well-guarded wizarding houses in England – the Fidelius charm is shot to pieces, of course, but the wards are still the ones Mad-Eye and the rest of the Order put in place, and we've been strengthening them a lot since. And there are four Aurors on duty all the time – two hidden at the front door, two in the neighbourhood; and we have magical traces all over the place. And then Harry is a major defense all by himself. No, you're safer here than anywhere else. And you're not to worry about Harry. He has rather proven that he can take care of himself. He needs you, Draco, that's obvious to anyone who bothers to look. And I have to tell you, both Molly and I are enormously grateful that you're here for him."

Draco could hardly hold back the tears in his eyes; Arthur must have noticed, because he stood and opened his arms to the blond; the gesture saying clearly 'I'm a father figure for Harry, let me help you too'. And somehow, even though, as Aunt Annie had said, 'Malfoy men don't cry', even though physical displays were just not what Malfoys did, Draco found himself drawn in to the love the man was showing him. He stood as well, entered the embrace, and wrapped his arms around the older man, and to his deep chagrin found himself crying on his chest, as Arthur rubbed his back and made soothing noises.

It wasn't long after that that Harry poked his head around the door and found them still clasped together.

"Harry," Arthur said, warmly, and held out an arm to him. Harry came forward, and Arthur wrapped the arm around him as Harry wrapped his around the two men.

* * *

Harry had woken to an empty bed for the first time in days. He missed the warmth of his lover immediately; he was almost panicking as he threw on clothes hastily and raced downstairs in search of the blond. It didn't help when he found Draco in someone else's arms … There was a spike of jealousy before he recognised Arthur Weasley. "Harry," Arthur had said, in a voice filled with warmth and love, and Harry realised that his lover was crying in the older man's arms. His heart went out to his lover immediately as his panic deflated; he went over to comfort Draco, and found himself wrapped up in love by both men.

They stood together until Draco stiffened, and Harry knew that he was becoming embarrassed by the position they were in. He eased the two of them gently away from Arthur, kissed Draco's forehead, and sat with him on a sofa.

"Good morning," he said to them both. "Quite an unexpected pleasure to see you so early, Arthur?"

"I wanted to have a quiet word with you both before the excitement today," Arthur replied. "As Draco was up, I've filled him in about Yaxley."

Harry looked daggers at him. "I thought we weren't going to tell him?" he said, sounding rather annoyed.

"Harry, the first law of relationships is, don't keep secrets from one another!" Arthur told him, quite firmly. "It always leads to trouble. Draco, and his family, are directly concerned in Yaxley's plans; he needs to know about them."

Harry looked abashed. "Yeah, OK, I'm sorry."

"You had better be," Draco said. "And we'd better agree now that Arthur's right. No secrets from one another, OK?"

Harry looked at him, his eyes downcast. But the blond placed his finger under Harry's chin and lifted the other's head, forcing Harry to look at him, and demanded, "OK?"

"Yeah, OK," Harry agreed.

"Good," Draco said, and kissed him soundly on the lips. Harry went bright red to be kissed like that in front of Arthur, but Arthur just chuckled, said "young love," and called for Kreacher. His tea-cup was empty, and Harry would want breakfast.

* * *

Arthur did not stay long after Harry arrived. They agreed to come to The Burrow after lunch; they would either go to the airport, or, if that was decided to be too dangerous, farewell Ron and Hermione from the house. Things seemed to be getting quite serious, Draco thought, if these sorts of precautions and contingency plans were deemed to be necessary. He wondered what else had been discussed the previous evening.

When Arthur left, Harry sat at the desk, writing a letter.

"Who are you writing to, love?" Draco asked.

"Your parents," Harry answered, still concentrating on the parchment.

"Really?" Draco asked, surprised. "Um, why?"

"Just to say thank you for a lovely lunch yesterday; that's all right isn't it?" Harry asked, a note of uncertainty in his voice.

"Harry, it's wonderful, and I'm so glad you thought of it," Draco replied.

"OK," said Harry. He put the parchment into an envelope; as soon as he did so, Pig, who was still staying with them, chirped more like a mad budgerigar than a sensible owl, and wouldn't shut up until Harry had given him the letter and sent him to Malfoy Manor.

Draco was still concerned. Not only about the afternoon; Harry had sat down in the armchair opposite him, his gaze down again, and wouldn't look him in the eyes.

_Right_, he thought. _We're not having this._ He reached over and lifted Harry's head up.

"Harry," he said, "we're going back to bed. And then I'm going to make you happy. Sound good?"

Harry smiled and nodded.

Draco continued, "and then you're going to make me happy. Do you know how you're going to do that?"

"I think I can guess," Harry said, with a smirk that would have done any Slytherin proud.

_I don't think you can_, Draco thought. But he really was a Slytherin. The trap was baited; he wasn't going to spring it too early.

* * *

They went up to their shared bedroom, stripped off, and within a very few minutes lay together in their boxers, cuddling one another.

"I missed you when I woke up," Harry confessed, his voice sad, the tone expressing eloquently the sense of loss he had felt that Draco had not been there.

"I'm sorry," Draco said, "I woke early, and you were lying there, so beautiful, I didn't have the heart to wake you; but I couldn't sleep, so I thought it better to leave than risk waking you. And it's a good thing I got up when I did; I was only just ready when Arthur Floo-called!"

"Oh. Yeah. Um, Draco, about that. I'm really sorry about not telling you and everything. I tried to keep the news about Yaxley from you because I thought it would hurt you too much."

"I see," said Draco, his hand wandering down Harry's stomach. "And what do you think now?" he asked, as his hand reached Harry's groin.

"Um well I can see that – _ooh please, more _– I can see that – _Draco, yes!_ – I can see …"

"You can see," said Draco, kissing his lover all around his neck as his hand slipped inside Harry's boxers and expertly massaged his cock and balls, "that it doesn't do any good to keep secrets from me, and you're not going to do it again, are you Harry? Hmm?"

"Um – noo – _oh God, Draco, oh, please, oh, oh! Draco!" _And Harry lost it completely as he came into Draco's hand.

"Good," said his lover, while Harry gasped and spluttered, trying to get his breathing under control. "Very good. All right, Harry, so what else did you talk about that you haven't told me, hmm?"

"How – _gasp_ – do you know – _oh _– that there's more?" said Harry, still struggling to regain normal breathing.

"Because I know you, Harry. I've watched you closely since I was eleven years old. You can't keep secrets from me that easily."

Harry finally caught his breath, and turned to his lover. Draco was astonished to see the tears in his eyes. Harry was biting his lip; this was something big.

"What's wrong, love?" he said, softly, so softly, and Harry couldn't hold himself together any more.

"The Dursleys!" he breathed through sobs that wracked his body. "My – aunt – and – uncle," he said, each word coming out on a separate breath.

"I know that, love," Draco said, clutching Harry tight, as he became more and more worried at the dark-haired boy's visible distress. "Hermione told me their name. What about them?"

"They – they – Petunia, my mother's sister, she -" and Harry broke down into sobs.

It took half an hour of Draco comforting him before Harry calmed down enough to be able to talk about it. And when he did, what he said shocked Draco to the core. The Dursleys, Kingsley and Arthur had learned, were very afraid of Harry, very afraid indeed (not, Draco thought, without some cause; he was, after all, probably the most powerful wizard Draco had ever met, maybe excepting Dumbledore); and so it seemed that, by telling a terrible tarradiddle of lies, they had convinced the police and the courts that he was a dangerous criminal, and a warrant had been issued stipulating that he be arrested on sight. And what was worse, what Harry had to screw up all his courage to tell Draco, was that they had also taken out an injunction forbidding Harry from going within two hundred yards of them.

Draco guessed at once that, of course, none of this mattered in itself; there was no reason for wizards to be at all concerned about what the Muggle authorities thought of them, and if Harry wanted to visit his relatives, a mere injunction wasn't going to stop him. No, it was the absolute rejection by his own family; and most expecially, Draco guessed, by Petunia, his only surviving blood relative; that was what was eating Harry up.

Draco felt a surge of anger rising in him. _How can they do this? _He asked himself. _How could they want to hurt this beautiful, loving, lovely man? How could __**anyone**__ want to, never mind his own __**family**__, for fuck's sake? _And hurt him they most definitely had. Draco fought down his own anger. Not that it was wrong to be angry: at the right time, he would find some way to channel it into dealing with these horrible people as they deserved. But right now he had to find the icy calm that had so often sustained him at Hogwarts, for Harry's sake; it simply wasn't going to help Harry for Draco to get angry. Draco might care nothing for the Dursleys, but he cared an awful lot for Harry.

"Hush, love, hush; we'll deal with it together, all right?" he said, soothingly, pleadingly, longing to be able to take away the pain, hauling them up the bed so Harry could lean against his chest while Draco stroked him smoothly, sensually, every motion desperately seeking to say 'I love you' even as he whispered the words into his lover's ear.

Harry sat silent for what seemed like an age before speaking. "I'm sorry, Draco, I can't talk about it any more," he said, his voice almost giving out. "I know I shouldn't keep secrets, but –"

"Hush," the blond replied, kissing his nose. "It's not a secret any more, Harry. It's just something I know is there, that you'll talk about when you're ready. And whenever that is, I'll listen. And we'll deal with it together. And whatever it takes, we're going to get you through it, and smiling again. OK?"

Harry smiled weakly. "OK," he agreed.

"But promise me this," the blond continued, desperation coming into his voice, "you won't keep it in when it hurts, will you? You'll come to me, and tell me, and let me help?"

Harry looked at him, astonished. No-one have ever made such an offer to him before, that he could remember; he could hardly take it in.

"You really love me," he said, his voice filled with awe; for the first time, perhaps, it was not a question.

"I do," said Draco, and wrapped him in his arms, satisfied for the moment, and they sat cuddling together for a long time.

* * *

They Flooed to The Burrow after lunch. The whole family had gathered in the garden at the Burrow to see Ron and Hermione off. To Muggle eyes, they were travelling extremely light; Ron had a briefcase and Hermione was carrying a small shoulder bag, which had had an Undetectable Extension charm placed on it and contained all their luggage, and probably, Harry thought, half a library beside.

Molly was rather tearful at the thought of losing her son and future daughter-in-law for four whole weeks, and had knitted them Weasley jumpers especially, as it was Autumn in Australia. Ron pointed out that they were going to Sydney, where the weather was about the same temperature as England at the moment, but Molly was unmoved and insisted they rug up warmly. By contrast, Arthur was almost beside himself with glee at the prospect of Ron's adventure on the 'airyplain', and made them promise to tell him all about it when they got back. Ron had already started a large journal in which he was jotting down every detail of the trip. Harry smiled inwardly at the discovery that his best friend was what Dudley would have very derisively called a "train-spotter".

They decided that it was far too dangerous for Draco to go to the airport; and Harry said in that case he wouldn't go either. Arthur was secretly rather glad of this; their information was that Yaxley was on the move, and he didn't want to take any unnecessary risks. Hermione and Ron said they quite understood; and after Harry had a word with them in private, from which they all came out with both smiles and tears on their faces, he rather thought that they did.

"Time to go," Arthur said, not unkindly, and they piled into the Ministry cars that would take them to Heathrow Airport. Harry and Draco stood outside together, waving goodbye until they could no longer even pretend to see the cars in the distance.

"Cheer up, Harry," George said to him as he and Neville came over to them. "How about we teach Draco how to play gnome tennis?"

Draco turned out to be surprisingly adept at this new game, teaching them to spin the gnomes and even make them crash into each other. The gnomes loved him for it, giggling happily as they bounced off one another, and the twins, Harry and Draco played for about an hour, with Neville watching and encouraging particularly interesting shots. Bill came out to them and suggested a quick Quidditch match, which they agreed to eagerly. Bill, Charlie, Percy, Dean Thomas and Robin Banks made up one team, George, Fred, Angelina, Draco and Harry the other.

Molly had put dinner in the oven, and she and Arthur came out to watch the match. Arthur was amazed at the standard of play; he commented to Molly that Ginny, Robin, Harry and Draco were all good enough to play professionally, and even Percy, never known for his skill on a broom, was holding his own in the company. Molly, for her part, had very little interest in or knowledge of Quidditch, but she always stood at Arthur's side, so she was happy to fall in with this opinion.

"Mind you," she said, "I do hope they all choose _proper_ careers like our Percy has."

Arthur smiled at this innocent snobbery.

The game ended with Draco catching the snitch and winning for his team. Harry had elected not to play as Seeker, knowing that Draco had not played for a long time, and had probably thought he never would again; the expression on his face when he won was worth sitting out a hundred games for, Harry decided.

They came down laughing together, and Harry was happy beyond words to see how Draco was included in the chatter and chaffing that went on between them. The twins even got away with messing up his hair; he glared at them, to be sure, but then spoilt the effect by bursting into laughter as they glared back.

"Draco, congratulations on your victory," Molly said, mock-seriously; then, quite seriously, "would you and Harry like to stay for dinner?"

Harry held his breath. Here was a real test of relationship: yesterday had been a party, that was one thing, but what would his lover say about actually sitting down to dine with 'blood traitors'?

"We'd love to," he said, and turned to his lover for confirmation. "Wouldn't we Harry?"

"Yeah," Harry grinned, "that would be … brilliant!"

And somehow, saying it just like Ron would have, made it seem like he was there with them, enjoying the moment; it made them all laugh.

* * *

Harry didn't think anything of it when they sat at the table with the twins on either side of them; not until they had finished eating, and there was plenty of noise around the table.

"OK, Harry," Fred said to him, very quietly, "what's up, mate?"

George had obviously heard, because he added, "and how can we help you two?"

Harry put his hands in his lap and looked at each twin in turn. He thought he'd been able to avoid suspicion; he should have known his friends better. They had planned this, he was sure of it. And they had done so, not to ambush him, but because they loved him. _Loved them_, he corrected himself, seeing clearly in George's eyes that helping Draco was important to him as well.

"Just some things your dad told me," he said, equally quietly. "Draco's helping me work through them, aren't you Dray?"

Draco recoiled slightly. _Dray?_ But he could see Harry meant nothing but love by it, so rubbed his lover's back.

"I certainly am, _Har,_" he replied.

George's face creased from the huge smile that sprung onto it as though it had leapt on. "That's you told, _Har_!" he said, teasingly.

But it was a _faux pas_, and Fred could see the tears standing in Harry's eyes, the tears he was trying desperately to keep away, and knew immediately. "Hey," he said softly, "you know George is just teasing, Harry."

For his part, Draco had also regretted the words; as soon as he had spoken them he had felt Harry's whole body stiffen. He raised his arm up to Harry's shoulder and whispered in his ear.

"It's OK, love; I'm sorry. I know it hurts."

Harry turned to his lover, and hugged him, deeply, desperately. He realised suddenly that what he could really do with now was Hermione telling him not to be an idiot, or Ron telling him to "spill". For the first time since they had left, it hit him how long four weeks was going to be without them. He was going to miss his best friends.

And then something totally unexpected, something wonderful, something truly amazing happened.

"Take me home, Harry," Draco whispered.

Harry let go of him, pushing away just a little then grabbing his upper arms with his hands, and looked into his eyes, dumbfounded.

"Home? Is Grimmauld Place home for you?"

Draco kissed him.

"Wherever you live, that's my home," he replied.

* * *

_**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** As always, my grateful thanks to all who subscribe and review; and to Bicky Monster who continues to do a wonderful job as a beta, both with the text and in sorting out my thoughts as expressed below._

**_emice: _**_Thank you for reviewing at all! I hope you find more time to stroke my ego ... Purrrr... And I hope you still want more!_

_**Cherrie-san**: Me too. But she's a spiteful piece of work in the canon.  
_

_**MirrorFlower and DarkWind** : Thanks, appreciate it, as always.  
_

**_lovergirl101: _**_As you can see, the talk with Harry wasn't about Draco, but did concern him. As for Harry getting drunk, you might have something there ..._

_**PikuPow** Thank you, you make me blush! "Your writing style is really good and it's easy to follow.": that's what I aim for, delighted to hear that I'm acheiving it! And thank you for loving my jokes!_

_**NamiLei :** Thank you for taking the trouble to respond. I'm intrigued that you got that feeling from ch10; I didn't intentionally put any such suggestion in! And I certainly don't mean to confuse. Unfortunately I can't respond to you individually if you post without logging in. But you do raise some issues that I think perhaps I might respond to._

_NOTE: ****SPOILERS**** The section below includes some of my thoughts about where "Returning to Sanity" is going. If you'd rather just read __the story_ for itself, please don't read on. Thanks.

* * *

_MPREG: If it happens at all [I only said it might!], will not be the major event in RtS. After all, we're 22 chapters in and it hasn't been mentioned or even hinted at (in the story, that is). The next two chapters are almost written and it isn't there either; they are even now just starting to get their footing in their relationship together._

_Sub/dom: There are many stories out there featuring fixed stereotypical roles for the principals. This is not one of them. As far as RtS is concerned, looking at Harry and Draco and asking "who is the sub?" is like looking at a pair of chopsticks and asking "which one is the fork?" Mind you, I'm not saying there's anything intrinsically wrong with such stories; I enjoy many of them. It's just not where I see RtS going. I could be wrong though; RtS has something of a life of its own and I certainly won't force it in any direction that works against its general flow._

_Confusion about being held: They both want to be held at different times and for different reasons. I don't think that things like wanting to be held, or needing support from the other, automatically makes someone the "submissive" partner in any healthy relationship._

* * *

_I do hope you will continue to read the story; at the end of the day I can't tell you what you want because I don't know myself, so I guess you'll just have to trust me.  
_


	23. Return of the Slytherins

**23 Return Of The Slytherins**

_Monday, 25 May 1998_

At dinner the previous night, Arthur had invited both Harry and Draco to come to the ministry to talk further about the issues that had been raised. Having been given special permission to enter directly into the Ministry's Secretariat, the two young men Flooed in to Arthur's office just before eight. Arthur greeted them both warmly, and plied them with coffee and pastries.

Harry had eaten a croissant, and Draco was on his third _pain au chocolat_, when Kingsley arrived and joined them. His eyes twinkled as he watched Draco finishing off the pastry; and he only just managed to stop himself from laughter as the blond hunted around for another one, before, with a pout, accepting that they were all gone.

"Try one of these," he said, passing over a plate of pastry _escargots_. Draco's eyes lit up happily; he took two. At this, Kingsley did laugh.

"Now, gentlemen," he said, his voice rich with good humour, "I have some things that I would like to discuss with Harry, and Arthur has a matter to bring up that specifically concerns Draco; so we thought we might separate, then let you compare notes privately if you wish to."

"I appreciate that, Kingsley," Harry said, "but after Arthur's little chat yesterday morning, I don't want to keep secrets from Draco."

"No, it's all right, Harry," the blond reassured him. "This way, we can hear what they have to say, and share it when we're ready."

"If you're OK, then," Harry said, sounding uncertain.

"Yes, go and talk to Kingsley," Draco said, putting on his bravest voice. But it was an act; even brazenly referring to the Minister by his Christian name was part of trying to reclaim the old Malfoy persona, the one in which it was perfectly natural to address the Minister of Magic by his first name. If Kingsley suspected anything, he didn't let on; he just ushered Harry out into his office.

* * *

Arthur cleared his throat.

"I want to start by reiterating what I said yesterday: I hope we can be friends. It's obvious that you and Harry are in love, but I suspect he's still hanging back a bit, isn't he?"

Draco was stunned. What did he say to that? And suddenly he got the point: if Arthur Weasley was his friend, everything was going to be open between them. They were going to talk about anything and everything; if he wanted it, he realised, he had a replacement for Severus, the one he had always been able to go to about everything.

Did he want to? Draco decided that he did. And if Arthur trusted him and Harry so much, it was only right to trust him back.

"Yes," he said, "he's very concerned about the Dursleys. He started telling me about them yesterday after you'd gone. He told me about the warrant, and the injunction; but he couldn't go any further."

"I'm glad to hear he's gone that far," Arthur confessed. "Draco, it's huge that he's talking at all; do you think he will tell you more?"

"As you said, he's hanging back: I certainly hope that we can get closer and then, maybe. But I've told him it's up to him to talk about when he's ready."

Arthur smiled. "Good for you. The last thing Harry needs is someone else trying to force him to talk. That's never worked for anyone."

"People have tried?" Draco said, appalled at the thought.

"Oh, of course," Arthur replied. "Out of love for him, I assure you. Certainly Molly, Hermione and Ginny. And Harry has blocked them all out. So I hope for his sake he does open up to you. And for your sake, too."

"For my sake?" Draco asked.

'Yes, you won't have much of a relationship together if you can't talk about the past. Which does demand the question, how open are you to talking about your past?"

"Hmm…" Draco mused. "To Harry, you mean?"

"Yes, of course. I mean, you're welcome to talk to me about it if you want, but I don't need to know it; and I think Harry probably does."

"I suppose I should think about that," Draco replied, not sure what to say, or even, if he was honest, what there was to say to Harry.

"Do," Arthur encouraged him. "Remember, he grew up with Muggles, everything about your childhood will be news to him. Now," he continued, with a radical change of subject, "Hogwarts begins on the first of July; have you given much thought to that?"

"I have discussed subjects with my parents," Draco began, but Arthur waved that away.

"Yes of course, and that's not really my business; I was more wanting to talk to you about your fellow Slytherin students. You see, apart from the Memorial, you've been pretty much sequestered away, but once school starts again you'll have the student body to deal with. We need to be careful about your safety, and know who will help you and who to be wary of."

Draco looked at him, taking a few seconds to run through the Slytherins in his mind. Theo, he knew, was in Azkaban; Vince was dead; that left Pansy, Greg, Millicent and Blaise. And himself, of course.

Arthur watched him; seeing that the younger man was lost in thought, he just let him take his time. Draco appreciated this very much; but then, realising that he was wasting the time of the Deputy Minister of Magic and not daring to do so further, he nodded to invite Arthur to continue.

"At the present time, Blaise Zabini, Pansy Parkinson and Millicent Bulstrode have all indicated that they will return to Hogwarts, while Gregory Goyle has applied for and been accepted into Durmstrang. I know that Greg, Vince and you were always together -"

"Yeah, they were kind of my bodyguards," Draco admitted, wanting to make it clear that there was no other kind of relationship between them.

"Yes, that's what I heard," Arthur said, equably. "But I'm afraid you won't have them this year."

"But I will have Blaise –" Draco continued, thinking out loud about the accommodation; and suddenly remembered, "we aren't in dormitories, right? Who would be in our Tower?"

"Well of course that's really for the Headmistress to decide. I understand that the sexes will be segregated." At this point Arthur consulted a piece of parchment on his desk, and continued, "among the men there are five Gryffindors returning: Harry, Ron, Dean Thomas, Neville Longbottom and Seamus Finnigan; two Hufflepuffs: Ernie Macmillan and Justin Finch-Fletchley; three Ravenclaws: Terry Boot, Michael Corner, and Anthony Goldstein; and of course you and Blaise from Slytherin. From the Ministry's point of view it would be ideal to put the Gryffindors with the two Slytherins in one tower; you know, promoting unity between former enemies, that sort of line. Do you think that would work?"

Draco thought about this for a good few seconds. If he'd been asked before the Battle of Hogwarts, there would have been no question: it would have been a recipe for disaster. But they were older and (he hoped!) wiser now, and he was already getting on well with Ron, Neville and Dean; and Seamus had shaken his hand. Harry and he, of course, were getting on better than well. No, overall he had no problem with the idea of sharing with the Gryffindors.

"I think those five all accept me, and we should get on," he said; "so we just have to make sure they'll be OK with Blaise."

"Good," said Arthur. "Ron said as much to me before he left; and he said he'd be happy to share a room with Blaise, assuming that you and Harry want to share." Arthur looked up and smiled at him; Draco knew he didn't have to answer, which was just as well as his voice would probably have failed him. He was finding this interview both incredibly painful – he wasn't used to such open discussion of matter so close to people's hearts; and amazingly freeing – there was not a hint of judgement in anything Arthur had said, he felt nothing but a warm, friendly acceptance from the man.

"As far as the girls are concerned," Arthur continued, "we're rather under-represented; the Patils will not be returning, so there's only Hermione from Gryffindor, and two from each of the other houses: Hufflepuffs Hannah Abbott and Susan Bones, Ravenclaws Mandy Brocklehurst and Lisa Turpin, and as we've already said, Pansy Parkinson and Millicent Bullstrode from Slytherin. Now, of course, all the details will be organised by Hogwarts; the real concerns I have, and the reason for sounding you out just now, are twofold."

_Here it comes_, thought Draco. He was sure there was a point here somewhere, and the Deputy Minister seemed at last to be coming to it.

"Firstly, as the Deputy Minister, it's very important that we make this work. As I've said, we need to worry about your safety. If there are people that might cause trouble, we need to know about it now, so we can monitor the situation appropriately. There's still a large part of the wizarding world that would dearly love to lock you and your father in Azkaban and leave you to rot, and we need to make sure that any antipathies at Hogwarts are dealt with swiftly. I don't imagine you'll be foolish enough to seek out trouble?"

"No sir," Draco agreed.

"_Arthur_, not _sir_, please! But, yes. So we'll need to keep the peace more on the other side. Smith isn't coming back; in fact, no-one knows exactly where he is. Hogwarts sent him an owl, and it appears that he received it; at least, word was sent back saying that he didn't want anything to do with any of us. So long as he stays out of society, that is his right, I suppose, and shouldn't pose a problem. Do you imagine you'll have any problems from anyone else?"

"Pansy and Millicent might be difficult," Draco admitted. "I mean, I've always rubbed along with the Ravenclaws, and pretty much ignored the Hufflepuffs as much as possible, and I can't see why that would change; they didn't really trust me or befriend me before, but we lived together without any real incident. But the Slytherin girls, I doubt they'll still trust me."

"Hmm. We'll have to work on that, obviously. I'll have a word with Susan Bones, and Hermione when they get back. All right. The second concern I have is parental; I'm pretty much Harry's father, you're pretty much his boyfriend, so I'm very concerned personally for you both. Do you think you will get married?"

_Merlin! _Draco thought. _When he does get to the point, he comes straight out with it!_ But one doesn't say such things to the Deputy Minister. On the other hand, what could he say? _Be daring, _he decided. _Tell the truth._ "I certainly hope so," he said, looking straight at the Weasley.

Arthur returned his gaze steadily, searching for something. Assurance, perhaps? Whatever it was, he must have found it; for he smiled at Draco and said simply, "then I want you to know that you have my full support, Draco. Any way in which I can be of service to you, I will."

Draco was astonished, embarrassed, and delighted, all at once. "Thank you," he said, his eyes shining, and Arthur's heart lept for joy within him to think that Harry had this young man to help him. Returning to Hogwarts was going to be tough, he knew that; for the moment, they could hide away in Grimmauld Place if they wanted to, but come July that would be gone. He was glad they were both helping with the reconstruction; it meant their full re-emergence into wizarding society was being done in slow stages, which he had been quite sure Harry needed for some time, and now saw plainly that Draco did as well.

* * *

Kingsley discussed with Harry the precautions that were being put in place in view of the threat posed by Yaxley. He wanted to know what Harry's plans were, particularly in view of the threat to Draco.

"I don't really have plans," Harry admitted, a bit shamefacedly. "For the last couple of weekdays, we've been working at Grimmauld in the morning and Hogwarts in the afternoon; I guess we'll keep to that. The weekend was exceptional, of course; we visited Malfoy Manor on Saturday and the Burrow for the party and the farewell yesterday. I guess we'll be doing that a bit, I mean, visiting those two places, but I don't really have anything more concrete, sorry."

"Don't be sorry," Kingsley admonished him. "In fact, we need to be careful that it's so structured." Harry looked puzzled at this, so Kingsley elaborated. "Anything predictable is dangerous, Harry. If Yaxley wants to take you or Draco, he'll want to plan it ahead, so he'll have to rely on you reliably being somewhere. If we can guard those times we know about, you can do all the extra things you want, with Auror presence still I'm afraid."

"So, anything predictable is a problem?" Harry asked.

"Yes," the minister answered. "Why, does that make you think of something?"

"Yes," Harry answered, and discussed his thoughts at some length with the minister.

"Well," said Kingsley eventually, "I guess we have a plan then. Now, there's one other thing we need to discuss."

Harry didn't like the way this was said: Kingsley's tone made it clear this was something he thought Harry wouldn't like. He was right. "How would you feel about giving an interview to the Daily Prophet?" Kingsley asked him.

"I'd rather gnaw my own arm off," Harry replied. And then it struck him that this was an unfortunate turn of phrase as he remembered the curses fired at Draco and him at the Memorial service, and Theo Nott losing an arm …

"Kingsley," he asked, off in his thoughts, "is there any chance that Nott was innocent?"

"Hmm. Well, the Wizengamot found him guilty; but they could be wrong I suppose. It was treated as an open-and-shut case, there was no question that he fired the Sectumsepra spell; though we're not sure who fired the other two yet, we do have some leads that I can assure you are being followed up."

"Yes," Harry said, a little impatiently; he was sure the Ministry was doing its job with Kingsley at the helm, "but a Stupefy and a Confringo are less important than Sectumsempra. It's almost like someone was trying to divert attention from Nott's spell, using lesser ones fired first; but there wasn't quite enough of a gap for that to work. But if Yaxley was involved even at that early stage, is there any chance that Nott was under an Imperius curse?"

"The point was considered, but pretty much rejected; there were all too many wizards walked free after Voldemort's first defeat because they claimed they had been Imperiused, and then proved they were on his side in the second; so the Wizengamot is much less likely to accept a claim of Imperio than they were before. Do you want me to look into it?"

"Please," Harry said. "Draco has so few friends, if there's any chance of getting Theo back, it would be worth it."

"All right. But you're going to have to help me with an interview," Kingley said, a little smugly.

"OK," Harry groaned. "What is it going to be about?"

"Oh, I'm sure Rita Skeeter will want to renew her 'special empathy' with you," Kingsley said, having the grace to blush slightly. Not that it was easy to tell on his dark skin. "But what we want is to get the message of the Potter Code out. No, you don't have to say anything technical," he said, reassuringly, as Harry looked a bit frightened, "you just have to get the message out about all working together. It's been done a bit, but we need to keep it in the public mind as long as we can. We've got quite a bit of legislation to get through, undoing all the nonsense about Muggleborn registration and so on, …"

"Is that still there?" Harry gasped, shocked at the thought.

"It's still law, we've just suspended it pending a hearing. And Umbridge's trial. Which, by the way, is currently scheduled for this coming Wednesday, the twenty-seventh of May."

"Do I have to worry about that?" Harry asked. He wasn't very interested; as long as she got what was coming to her, he didn't really want to know about Dolores Umbridge.

"I'm afraid you might. She has engaged counsel; unheard of in Wizarding circles, but that made it hard to prohibit. We're afraid she's going to pull out all the stops for sympathy and cast herself on the 'second chance' idea of the Potter Code. She may well call you as a witness; and if she doesn't, I suspect you'll get called in to advise anyway. So, keep it in mind. But, in the meantime, we've thought out some things we would like you to say to Ms Skeeter."

With this, Kingsley handed Harry a parchment. There were sample questions and suggested answers on it, together with a list of 'Points We Would Like to Put Across'. Harry was very apprehensive about this idea, remembering when Scrimgeour had tried to get him to be a mascot for the Ministry; surely Kingsley wasn't going to try to use him the same way, to peddle the Ministry line? But he found that practically everything on the parchment was taken from his own words, and was very surprised that it seemed to come to quite a coherent whole.

Kingsley watched him as he read. What was Harry thinking? His body language had been uptight to begin with, fair enough, the damned interview had been sprung on him with no warning, and now he'd been bullied into it as his half of a bargain; but as he read, Kingsley could see him relaxing. Doge's nephew had done a really first-class job of taking Harry's statements and turning them into a Code; and it was clear that Harry thought so too. Not that he knew about Aloysius Doge's involvement; but there was no need to mention that. The man himself had said he was a back-room boy; merely 'taking the rough gems of others and giving them a careful cut and polish to bring out their true inner beauty', he had said, demonstrating perfectly the skill of finding exactly the right phrases that made him such an expert at his job.

"This is really good," Harry said at last. "Why don't you just publish it?"

"We will," Kingsley answered. "But after you've said it, or most of it. I'm sorry, Harry, but you are 'the Saviour' and at the moment we can use that to get things done. I'm hoping when you get back to Hogwarts we can close that all down, at least for a while, but until then, you will find yourself in the paper every other day. We are trying very hard to keep them away from you, believe me; the Prophet has been told in no uncertain terms that if you allege harassment they're in deep trouble; and they haven't got at you, have they?"

Harry thought back to that Veronica or Virginia or whatever her name was who had come up to him at the Lupins' funeral; that was about it, he realised.

"No, I can't say I have."

"Quite. But there's a danger that you'll be seen as dropping out of society, and then you'll become a curiosity again. This interview should give you a chance to put your views across, to be seen back in Wizarding society, but on your terms. OK?"

"All right, Kingsley, I'll get my head around this lot and do the interview. Did you have a time and place set up yet?"

"No, we'll get onto that now. I suggest at the Ministry; best not to give them any chance to get to anywhere you actually like to frequent. How about I try to line it up for Thursday? That way it will come out after Umbridge's trial and hopefully negate any publicity or sympathy she might drum up"

At this point, Kingsley's secretary came in, to suggest that it was time for morning tea. "Thank you, Lucinda," Kingsley answered, "excellent timing, we're finished here; are Arthur and Draco done?"

"Yes, Minister."

* * *

After the Minister and his Deputy had filled them with tea, and cream cakes, of which Harry had eaten one cake and one bite and Draco three cakes less one bite, they Flooed back to Grimmauld Place.

As they left the Floo, Pig shrieked at them, and they found that he was sharing his perch with an intruder; a huge eagle owl sat there, preening his feathers and disdainfully ignoring the other bird.

"Ozymandius!" Draco exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"

The owl looked at him, a look of recognition, and held out its claw. There was a letter attached, which Draco removed; then, seeing the addressee, handed it to Harry as he remarked, "it's from mother. It must be in reply to your owl of yesterday. Which reminds me …"

Harry opened the letter as Draco sat at the desk, pulling out parchment and quill.

_Dear Harry,_ he read,

_Thank you so much for your kind letter. It was our very great pleasure to have you to lunch. I am delighted that you and Draco are together. I can see that you are very good to him, and sense that you are very good for him._

_As for having the two of you regularly, I can only say that I am stunned at your generosity and grace in suggesting such a thing and seeking to include us when you could so easily shut us out. I have discussed matters with Molly Weasley; she will expect you both to dinner on Saturdays, and we will expect you to Sunday lunch. Of course, you must let us know if this arrangement is inconvenient for any reason. Please send confirmation back with Ozymandias._

_In the other matter, I need only say that you have my full support._

_With my very grateful thanks,_

_And love,_

_Narcissa Malfoy._

By the time he had finished reading, Draco had finished writing his own letter, and sent Pig off with it. "What does she say?" he asked.

Harry smiled. "She wants us to come to lunch on Sunday," he answered, handing the letter to Draco to read as he sat down to write a reply. "I take it you're happy with that?"

"Oh yes," Draco said, a little absently as he had started to read, "that is, if you are?"

"Course," said Harry. His reply was short; he had finished writing and, much to Pig's relief, sent the imposing eagle owl off before Draco finished reading. The blond looked at him with arched eyebrows.

"You asked if we could come regularly?" he said, stunned in his turn for such a thing.

"Yeah, um, sorry, I guess I should have asked you first, um, whether you would be OK with it, or, …"

"Harry!" Draco said, interrupting the awkward babble that his lover was coming out with. "It's incredibly kind of you, and I couldn't be happier."

He was so delighted that he decided against asking what his mother meant by 'the other matter'; he trusted Harry to tell him in good time. They spent the rest of the morning comparing notes on the different conversations they had had. Draco decided against talking about the past, his or Harry's, at all yet; that could come up as it did. So he concentrated on all that Arthur had said about Hogwarts and the Ministry's hopes for co-operation. Harry agreed that it was going to be very important to make Blaise work in with the Gryffindors; he was overjoyed to hear that Draco would have at least one friend-from-before-the-War at Hogwarts.

Draco, for his part, was extremely grateful to Harry for bringing up Theo, even if he did have to give an interview to the poisonous Skeeter woman. And he was of course very interested, and concerned, about everything that had been discussed about Yaxley. He quite agreed with Harry about the most probable target; and, as Harry had expected, fell in with Harry and Kingsley's plans to make it what they called a 'honey-pot trap': irresistable to Yaxley. Well, they hoped so. It was a dangerous game, he knew; but then, so was doing nothing at all. They couldn't live their lives in fear of the man forever.

Like Harry, Draco was very impressed at the quality of the notes he had been given.

"I wonder who did these," he asked.

"Kingsley wouldn't say." Harry answered.

"That nearly always means it's someone's brother or cousin or nephew or niece or something like that," Draco replied.

Harry laughed. He was much happier after the morning's talk. Draco wondered why; but Harry answered the unspoken question by saying, "it doesn't matter. At least we have some things to do!"

It was a _Lumos_ moment for Draco. _Harry always likes to have something to do,_ he realised. Very good; that would be a task for him, then, to keep Harry happily busy.

And the present task, he realised, awaited them at Hogwarts. Kreacher had told them that Flitwick had called in the morning, a bit put out that they hadn't been there, though happy enough when he was told they'd gone to the Ministry. Apparently there was now a Floo established in the Great Hall, for helpers to use, so that they could relieve the pressure on the Hogsmeade apparition points and the Headmistress's Floo connection. Flitwick had asked if they would come for lunch, and said that they were welcome to do so whenever they wished; and of course, dinner was available too on any day they cared to stay for it.

So Harry and Draco Flooed to Hogwarts Castle, as they had been bidden. It was very strange to emerge into the Great Hall; as they did so, Flitwick saw them and bustled up to them.

"Very good, very good! Now, Mr Malfoy, I have a little surprise for you!"

And saying this, the Professor led them over to the table, where Draco had already seen a new helper sitting. He was overjoyed to have a fellow Slytherin at last; Blaise Zabini had joined the team.

* * *

Draco was a little hesitant at first; he had not been in touch with Blaise since they had met in the Three Broomsticks. But Blaise jumped up from the table and ran over to him, saying "caro amico!" as he so often did, and wrapping him in a huge hug. Just as it was beginning to feel uncomfortable, Blaise let go; then he looked at Draco and Harry critically. Apparently he liked what he saw; he smiled at them knowingly. "I think maybe what you only hoped when we met a week ago has happened, yes?" he said. "And still you keep it out of the Prophet!"

_A week? _Draco thought to himself; but, yes, it had only been a week. It's just that so much had happened! "Yes," he replied softly, "it's not common knowledge yet; I think Arthur Weasley had quite a bit to do with that."

"Arthur?" Blaise asked, confused, "isn't it Ron who is Harry's friend? Oh, hang on – Arthur is Papa Weasley, yes?"

"Yes," Harry replied, laughing at the thought of describing Arthur as 'Papa', "and also, just co-incidentally, the Deputy Minister for Magic."

Blaise looked suitably impressed. "Of course! I had not gathered they were the same person," he admitted, chagrin in his voice. Draco was not surprised to hear it; Blaise had always liked to be well up on the gossip.

"Let's eat as we talk," Draco suggested; and the three of them joined Neville, who had been chatting to Blaise before Harry and Draco had arrived.

"Neville! Alone today?" Harry asked.

"Draco, Harry," Neville said, saluting them with his water-glass as they sat down, Blaise next to Neville and the two lovers side by side on the low bench running the length of the table. "Dean and Seamus are minding the shop as the twins have gone to visit a colleague in Ireland who wanted to show them some ideas suggested by Leprechaun tricks. Did you enjoy the weekend? Certainly looked like you were having fun on a broomstick yesterday, Draco!"

The blond smiled at the memory. "I'd thought I'd never get to play Quidditch again," Draco confessed, "and Harry even let me be Seeker."

Neville smiled at the love-struck expressions on both Draco and Harry's faces. George had told him about Operation Happy Harry, and he had agreed to keep it up; but right now, Draco was doing his job for him. _Well, _he decided, _we'll have to start Operation Delighted Draco as well, if that makes Harry happy. _"We'll have to see if we can line up a game some afternoon here," he said.

"Really?" Draco asked, his excitement obvious. "But won't Flitwick mind if we take time out?"

"I'm not a slave-driver!" exclaimed the Professor, who was sitting on a stool at the end of the table and had heard most of the conversation. Longbottom laughed, and added, "you two have been busy all afternoon 'cos you've been cloistered away, but as often as not the rest of us stop after four o'clock and just horse around."

"Yes of course, it was remiss of me not to tell you," the Professor, who was sitting on a stool at the end of the table and had heard most of the conversation, chipped in, "but then, your work was so exceptional on the first day it seemed a shame to stop you on the second. You are quite welcome to come and socialise. We haven't had many good Quidditch players, so we've tended to play Shuntbumps instead."

"Shuntbumps?" Harry asked.

"It's a very old game," Draco said. "Basically, all the players are on brooms and they try to knock the opponents off using the handle of their own broom. The last player flying wins."

"And," Neville continued, "Professor Flitwick likes to play it because he wins every time! Everyone assumes he's going to be a pushover, being so small, but that gives him a lot of leverage, which is a bigger advantage than brawn, it turns out."

"It's not kind of you to give away my secrets, Mr Longbottom!" Flitwick twittered, but the smile on his face belied the scolding in his words. "Still, never mind, we can certainly look into playing Quidditch; the pitch is quite serviceable now. Though perhaps we could wait until Friday; if the work is well-progressed we could give the whole afternoon over to a game."

There was a general murmur of excited agreement with this, and several people sprang up, saying, "best get to work, then," and it occurred to Draco that perhaps Flitwick was a better politician than he had been given credit for – he had certainly manipulated his workers magnificently. Flitwick answered his thoughts by grinning at him and saying, "you have to learn how to motivate people when you're a teacher, Mr Malfoy – and to read what they are thinking, too!" Draco turned red at this.

The Floo suddenly sprang to life, and Flitwick beamed. "Ah!" he said, "I think we have some more friends for you, Mr Malfoy!" And, as he said it, Pansy Parkinson and Millicent Bullstrode came through the Floo and walked to the table.

Draco's heart was in his mouth. Arthur had wanted to set this up slowly, but Flitwick obviously had other ideas: Draco could only hope he'd got it right. He and Harry turned around, sitting the other way round on the bench so as to face the two girls, as Pansy came right up to him, with Millicent hanging a couple of paces behind.

"I'm sorry, Draco," she said, as she extended her hand to him. "I blew you away, you didn't deserve that. I'm glad you're not in Azkaban and I hope we can stay friends for this year. God knows we'll both need friends. Pax?"

Draco looked at her carefully. He had spent years watching Pansy, he knew how she worked, and he could see that this was a genuine change of heart. She had used the schoolyard word to ask for peace, and she meant it. He grinned, and grabbed her hand.

As he did so, Millie came up and saluted him in her gruff way, and his concerns from the morning evaporated. The Slytherins, it seemed, were going to stick together.

"OK, Pans, Millie. There's just one thing, though."

"Potter?" Pansy asked, cocking her head and looking at Harry, taking in for the first time that he and Draco were sitting very close together.

"Yes, _Harry_, and the other Gryffindors. We're going to have to work together with all of them."

"_**Harry**_? Really?" Pansy asked, disdain creeping into his voice.

"Yes, _**Pansy**_," the raven-head answered, standing up and extending a hand. She looked at him as though he was mad; then, seeing the glower on Draco's face, thought better of the insult that was forming on her lips.

"I suppose so," she said, shaking the hand. It was roughly done, without grace; but it was definitely a start.

"And the other Gryffindors," Draco repeated.

Pansy pulled a face, at which Neville stood up. "Pansy," he said, "we fought on opposite sides last year; but you're both right. You need friends; we have to work together. So, as you said, Pax?" he said, holding out his hands across the table to both Slytherin girls.

Pansy stared at him, not quite believing he could be serious. But Neville stared back, holding his ground, his hand not wavering. After several long seconds, Pansy made her choice.

"All right," she said, reaching over to shake Neville's hand. Millie, silently, did likewise.

Professor Flitwick grinned. "Now," he said, "to work! I would like to keep Mr Malfoy and Mr Potter together if you don't mind, since their work has been so exemplary; do you think you and Mr Zabini could work together, Mr Longbottom?"

"I'm sure that would be fine, Professor," Neville agreed happily.

"Very good! Then you and he can work on the fire damage in the Divination Tower, and perhaps these two lovely ladies," he said, turning to Pansy and Millicent, "would help? There is plenty to clean up, stones to mend, tapestries to re-hang."

Millicent's heart was beating. No-one had ever called her a 'lovely lady' before, and even though she knew the Professor was only being kind, it warmed her heart. "Come on, then," she said, the first words she'd said since arriving, "if we're going to work together, let's do it."

By afternoon tea time, the Divination Tower had been completely cleaned out; and Harry and Draco had finished all the building work of the second of Flitwick's four towers.

And by the time they returned home, Flitwick had won five games of Shuntbumps; and Draco had finally managed to best him in the sixth, and emerge as winner. Everyone had cheered him; and Harry had smiled.

_Maybe, just maybe, it's all going to work_, he thought.

* * *

_**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **Grateful thanks as always to Bicky Monster for all their help._

_Thanks to all who are following and favoriting! Gives me a lovely warm feeling that you're interested. And double thanks to those who review - chocolate chip cookies (gluten-free if needed) to you all!_

_Seriously, reviews are much appreciated. _

_Replies: I do reply individually, but I also feel you should be acknowledged (and maybe other people want to know my answers to your questions too!)_

_**MirrorFlower and DarkWind:** So kind, as always!_

_**PyroFyre1214:** Thank you for your faith. A sequel? Depends where this one gets up to, I guess. How long? Long enough, I don't have a plan for length, just content, and new things keep finding their way in._

_**emice:** Yes, there's definitely a progressive deepening of relationships, which certainly continues in ch24. Yaxley will turn up in good time, no spoilers, sorry! MPREG? Hmm, not my forte, perhaps, but then none of this is, it being my first ever fanfic. A sequel? Again, depends on where this one ends. _

_**Mayle:** Thanks! Hope you're continuing to enjoy the fluffiness!_

_ **IamACritic: **Thanks! As you can see, I am heeding your advice!_


	24. Returning to Painful Subjects

**24 Returning to Pleasant Company and Painful Subjects**

_Tuesday, 26 May 1998_

Tuesday morning seemed to go by in a flash. By lunchtime, the ground floor renovations at Grimmauld Place were finished entirely, as well as most of the first floor; except that they still had no idea how to remove Mad-Eye's spells or silence Walburga Black's portrait for good. They Flooed to Hogwarts for lunch; all the Gryffindor and Slytherin students sat together, including Dean and Seamus, who were not working in the shop today: the twins had now returned crowned with success from their visit to Ireland, and were busy moving stock around for their new products. Dean told Harry that they had four new lines, but it was all very hush-hush; they wouldn't say anything about them to Dean or Seamus, except that they couldn't wait to show them to Harry. Dean looked miffed at being left out like this, so Harry took care not to smile, though the news did make him feel warm inside.

Lunch had been quite a long meal, and Flitwick didn't seem to make any attempt to hurry them. Pansy and Blaise seemed to be making a genuine attempt to converse with the Gryffindors, and Neville was being open and friendly, discussing where the renovations were up to and what they hoped to achieve today now that they had Dean and Seamus to help. Harry was glad to see everyone trying to get on; Dean and Seamus both managed to be, if not quite friendly, then at least civil, and the conversation continued along happily, pointedly avoiding any discussion of the war, but including Quidditch, the new Ministry, the renovations again, the curriculum for the next year, and – of course - many sly questions about the new eighth year accommodation.

The only concern Harry had was that Millicent seemed to be very quiet. He whispered to Draco about this, but the blond reassured him that she was often quiet. "And she never quite got over not being on Umbridge's Inquisitorial Squad," he added. Harry looked concerned; he decided he might have to keep an eye on her.

But by this time they had been out of the conversation themselves, and Pansy decided to press them about the work they were doing. To the other Slytherins' great annoyance, they would not be drawn on any details and managed to avoid the topic; in the end, they had to practically run to get safely inside the new tower without giving away any information.

"Your house-mates are very persistent!" Harry said.

Draco smirked. "And you, my love, managed not to say anything – more like a Slytherin yourself, I thought."

"I nearly was, you know. The Sorting Hat wanted to put me in Slytherin."

"Really? And it let you choose Gryffindor instead?" Draco asked in wonder.

"Yeah, well, I kinda wanted to stay with Ron …" Harry replied, the smile sliding off his face at the thought of how awful he had been to Draco at the time.

"And I wanted you to be in Slytherin, and we didn't hit it off because I reminded you of your cousin," Draco replied, understanding immediately why Harry had stopped smiling. "I know. It's OK, Harry. I can't blame you for thinking I was like your spoilt brat of a cousin when I was a spoilt brat myself. And if you had been sorted into Slytherin we probably would have been just housemates, maybe friends, but we almost certainly wouldn't have what we do now, so no regrets, all right?"

Harry looked at him. It hit him afresh that Draco loved him. He had to, to admit to being a spoilt brat. Most of their relationship had been horrible – filled with spite, name-calling, jinxes and hexes. Him cutting Draco open, Draco breaking his nose. But yes, if that was the price for what they had now, it was probably worth it.

"Right," he said, smiling again.

Having started late, they worked past afternoon tea time; by five o'clock, when they were ready to go home, the third of the four Towers was complete.

* * *

When they got home, there were two owls waiting for them. One was Pig with a letter for Draco; the other was from the Clerk of the Wizengamot with a letter for Harry.

Draco opened his letter; it was a simple note, obviously written quickly, as there were crossings out:

_Dear Draco,_

_Thank you, of course we were delighted to have you to the party and to dinner at any time. I hope you don't mind me calling you 'Draco' but you're Harry's (__boyfriend_ crossed out)_ lover, which makes you family now; so please don't feel you have to write thanks every time! Your mother and I have discussed matters, and I do hope you and Harry will come to dinner on Saturday evenings in future._

_With (__very best wishes _crossed out_)__ love,_

_Molly Weasley_

He looked up, smiling. Harry looked curious, so Draco said, "it's from Mrs Weasley."

"Molly," Harry reprimanded, mechanically; he was wondering why Molly would write to Draco. Clearly it showed; for Draco went on to explain, "I wrote to Molly yesterday; I wasn't going to let you be polite to my mother and me not to Mrs We—Molly, that wouldn't do! She's confirmed the invitation for Saturdays."

"Oh, good," Harry said, sounding a bit distracted. He still hadn't opened his letter; he looked unhappy, and Draco's face dropped.

"This will be about Umbridge's trial," Harry said, sadly. Somehow he'd managed to keep it out of his mind for the whole day, but now here it was, demanding his attention.

"Open it quickly, Harry, we need to know what you have to do," Draco said, walking over and wrapping his arms round Harry in a gesture of support.

Harry ripped the envelope open. The letter inside informed him that, owing to late running of other business, the trial of Dolores Jane Umbridge had been postponed and would now begin at nine o'clock on the morning of Friday the twenty-ninth of May in Courtroom Ten. He was requested to attend with a view to assisting the Wizengamot in its consideration and elaboration of the Potter Code. As a consequence of the trial being moved, the interview with Rita Skeeter was now scheduled for Saturday 30 May at two o'clock in the afternoon. Pencilled under this was a note from Arthur, suggesting that they come to the Burrow at eleven o'clock on Saturday to discuss the interview in depth; and stay for lunch.

The very stuffiness of the letter was enough to depress Harry. Without a word, he handed it to Draco, who glanced at it and put it aside, having read most of it over Harry's shoulder.

"This is good, right?" Draco said. "You don't have to go until Friday."

"Yeah, but that only means I'll keep thinking about it until then," Harry replied, despondently.

"How about we do something to take your mind off it?" Draco asked, then, seeing the look in Harry's eyes, continued hurriedly, "maybe get some friends round, play cards, something like that?" It wasn't that he didn't enjoy his time alone with Harry in bed; but the raven-haired boy needed company now; Draco could tell that just the two of them together was not enough to stop the depression from settling straight back on him.

"I'd like that," Harry agreed. "Who did you have in mind?"

Draco smiled. "You go and tell Kreacher we'll need food, I'll see who I can rouse, alright?"

And Harry happily padded down to the kitchen to discuss matters with Kreacher.

* * *

The party, for that is what it became, did not break up till well after midnight.

Ginny and Robin came from the Burrow; Harry was rendered speechless when Robin came straight out of the Floo and clasped Draco in a huge hug. He wondered how the blond would react; but there was something about the Auror that made everyone warm to him, and even his lover, who was cagy about public shows of affection, simply smiled when Robin released him, and said, rather shyly, "thanks".

"What shall we do with this?" he asked, producing an enormous bottle of champagne. Kreacher was called, and in a very few minutes everyone had a glass of champagne and the bottle was cooling in an ice bucket charmed to stay cold all night, if by some incredible chance the champagne managed to last that long.

"I was very sorry not to see you at the engagement party," Robin said to them both, "I couldn't make because I was on duty. I heard all about the gifts you gave; brilliant choices, Draco. I'm glad to know there's a heart in there somewhere after all…" This last comment was made with such a big grin that it was impossible, even for Draco, to be offended; the blond contented himself with slapping Robin lightly on the cheek with the backs of his fingers, and then grinning in turn.

Next to arrive were Blaise and Pansy; Harry made a point of welcoming them into his house. Blaise accepted the cordial hospitality with the easy grace of a noble-born Italian; but Pansy looked a little uncertain.

"What's the problem, Pans?" Draco asked her.

"I … I guess it's one thing to be friendly to Potter at Hogwarts, but being in his house …"

"Pans, he's called 'Harry', all right? And this is my home too, isn't it, Harry?"

"Absolutely," said Harry, trying but failing to hide the smile of pure delight that Draco thought so, and was prepared to say so so openly. "So, welcome to Draco's house, Pansy!"

The Slytherin looked at him. "Draco's house?" she said, and they could practically see the cogs turning in her mind. "Hang on, are you two …"

"Yes," said Draco. And if his voice trembled just a little, who could blame him? He knew Pansy was more than half in love with him, though he had never encouraged it. How would she react to this?

"It's that Debt thing, right?" she asked.

"No," Draco replied. "It's that we love one another."

She looked at him very carefully. Draco's face showed her two things: he was worried about how she would react, she could see that, but also something she hadn't seen enough of – he was happy. Really, truly happy. Had Potter done this?

She turned to Harry. His face was so open, so honest, so welcoming, that she smiled in spite of herself, and some of the reserve inside her thawed to this man she had spoken against during the War, and who had somehow managed to put that fact aside. She wanted to be jealous; but she couldn't, not in the face of such obvious love. _Well, if he can make Draco this happy, he deserves him. And if he can put the past behind him, so can I, _she decided.

"I see that," she said, a sly smile breaking out on her face. "Thanks, Harry," she continued, accepting the glass of champagne that he handed to her.

"Hello Harry," said a familiar voice. Harry hadn't paid attention to the Floo roariing while he was talking to Pansy, so her arrival had taken him by surprise; not the first time this particular guest had done that, he thought.

"Hello, Luna," he said, "it's good to see you." And he meant it; he was delighted that Draco had thought to ask her.

"You look very happy, Harry," she said, in her dreamy way. "You and Draco are good for each other. I'm so pleased."

With which, having rendered Harry speechless for the minute, she took a glass of champagne from him and began an earnest conversation with Blaise and Pansy. Harry listened in for a moment; he was almost disappointed that it appeared to be a perfectly sensible discussion about the curriculum for next year; there appeared to be no mention of wrackspurts or crumple-horned snorkacks at all.

* * *

As they had needed to close up the shop, the twins didn't arrive until six; Neville came with them, but Dean and Seamus were busy, as it happened, and sent their apologies. The twins had also brought two of their new lines. The trick four-leaf clovers were kind of cute, but everyone agreed it was the skittles that were the best fun: the five pins stood in the traditional circle, one in the middle, each one painted with a silly face; but when the batons were thrown at them, the pins would react, each spelled with its own individual response. One of the pins would jump up, threateningly, and had to be hit with another baton to 'encourage' it to be quiet again. One, when hit, would run away into a corner sobbing. One would stick out its tongue at you. One would burst into laughter. And what made the game practically impossible to play is that the pins would insist on ganging up on the batons, racing around the circle to cut them off.

But none of them could get the pin in the middle to do anything at all, until George showed them the secret: by lobbing a baton to hit it on the exact top, it exploded into fireworks that spelt "WINNER!" in six-inch high emerald green letters, to rapturous applause.

Kreacher chose this happy moment to announce that dinner was ready.

* * *

They sat around the table long after everyone had finished eating, the twins and Pansy telling jokes that weren't really funny but got a huge laugh anyway, while Harry sat drinking elf-wine now that the champagne was all gone. He was glad that people didn't seem to be taking particular notice of him; he so hated to be the centre of attention, and tonight he was quite content to sit and watch, enjoying being amongst people who, against the odds, were managing to feel at ease together. What he didn't know was that a large part of that ease was caused by the fact that he and Draco were so obviously at home in one another's company that Gryffindor and Slytherin alike felt drawn to them both.

Harry realised the well-spring of the feeling: relief. Here they were, sitting together, sworn enemies before the War, and they had managed to have a meal together in peace and find that they could actually enjoy one another's company. He smiled at his lover and suddenly remembered the night, just over two weeks ago, when he had simultaneously feared the outcome of Draco's trial and hoped to have him at the table, laughing and joking; and now here they were, the trial over, and Draco sitting just has he had imagined. True, he had thought that Ron and Hermione would be here; but that would happen later, and somehow having Blaise and Pansy instead made the moment just as special: they really were mending some of the breaches that Voldemort had made in Wizarding society.

These thoughts brought tears to his eyes, and they didn't go unnoticed. Draco leant over and, somehow contriving to be unobtrusive and also practically sit in Harry's lap, whispered, "are you all right?" to him. And the simple question, asked with so much love and concern, made Harry practically lose it, as he grabbed his lover and kissed him, tears of joy now falling down his face.

"Who's for more skittles?" George asked, a suggestion that was received with enthusiasm, and the rest of them went back up into the hall for another game. As she walked past, Luna turned to Draco. "You two should stay here for a moment," she said, enigmatically. "You need to come back into balance."

Draco had no idea what she meant, but he agreed that they needed to stay when Harry nuzzled into his shoulder, then his head flopped and he muttered something rather incoherent.

"Are you all right?" Draco asked, before the simple and rather obvious explanation occurred to him: they had consumed a lot of champagne and elf-wine, and Fred had been filling Harry's glass quite often … the poor boy was drunk. And drunk with a vengeance: he looked awful.

Draco pushed back in his chair and pulled Harry across his body so he was lying with his shoulders on Draco's chest, his head cradled on Draco's shoulder, with Draco's right arm lying across his body. Finding this rather uncomfortable, and suddenly remembering he was a wizard, he transfigured the chair into a sofa complete with cushions, which he used to help prop Harry up.

"What are we going to do with you, my poor drunk Gryffindor?" he asked, teasingly.

"'M shorry, Dray," Harry mumbled.

Draco just smiled, and reached his head down so his lips could meet Harry's in a swift, tender kiss. "Don't be," he said. "We'll just have to make sure there's a headache potion handy in the morning."

"No, 'm shorry," Harry insisted. "Don't wan force you to be with me. Mushtn't make you love me."

Draco's breath caught. _What?_ he thought. "You don't have to, Harry, I already do."

"No, ish the debt …"

_Oh. Is that what's worrying him? Still? _"No, Harry, it really isn't the Debt. The Debt can make me protect you but it can't make me love you. That's all me."

"No, ish debt …" Harry re-iterated, becoming more agitated. "Musht be … freak!"

"Freak?" Draco asked, puzzled. Did Harry think there was something freakish about the debt? Actually, there was, if you thought about it; the way it worked was unlike most other magic. But he'd just got used to it, never noticed it much now; he loved Harry, hurting him or lying to him was impossible because of that, the Debt just added to it really.

"No," Harry answered, bringing Draco back from his thoughts, "me, I'm … freak"

Draco said it out loud this time: "What?"

"'M a freak," Harry repeated, insistently.

"Who says so?" Draco demanded.

"Dursleys say sho. Freak. Weirdo. Evil boy!" And with this, Harry put his hands up, as though to ward off someone physically attacking him.

Draco felt sick to the pit of his stomach. He remembered the dream he'd had about the pig-eyed man, whom he now knew to be Vernon Dursley, and it all clicked into place. In any wizarding family, Harry would have been spoilt. But not by the Dursleys; they had branded him as a misfit, called him a freak, even made him live in a cupboard, he remembered Harry telling him that first morning at Grimmauld Place.

Merlin! What **hadn't** they done?

He wrapped his arms tightly round the raven-haired boy, letting the cushions fall to the floor. Harry cowered and whimpered at the touch, then turned his head into Draco's chest and let himself be held in the blond's strong arms.

"You're not a freak, Harry," he said, soothingly.

"Am," Harry insisted. "Hair always grew back. Aunt 'Tunia cut it all off. Grew back. Dudley kicked me. Healed by morning. Set shnake free." Here Harry smiled as the memory must have played itself out in his mind. "It shcared him. Made him run. Got beaten though. No supper. Made Aunt Marge blow up like balloon. Sho many freaky thingsh …"

Draco's heart was breaking. They'd put him under so much stress, of course his magic reacted. That made him a wizard, not a freak. Though he suspected these people definitely saw wizards as freaks.

"You're not a freak, Harry," he said, his voice cracking under the weight of the sorrow he felt for what that poor abused, neglected child had gone through, and the incredible admiration he had for the man he had become despite it all. "You're the kindest, most loving, most forgiving person I know. You gave your life up, letting the Dark Lord kill you for us all. You gave me my wand back. You gave me my magic back. Hell, Harry, you gave me my life back. I love you, Harry Potter, I want you in my life forever …"

By this time, words failed him; they were both crying, and Draco massaged Harry's back in large slow circles as they sobbed together. Harry quieted, relaxed, and snuggled into Draco's embrace; it wasn't long before his breathing became deep and even, and Draco realised he was asleep.

How long they sat there he didn't know; but eventually Luna came down to see how they were doing. "Oh good!" she said, her eyes sparkling with pleasure, "he's always needed to fall asleep in someone's arms. Let's get him to bed."

Draco had never had much time for Luna; 'Loony Luna' had summed her up for him. So he was amazed to find a grudging respect for her welling up. She obviously had hidden depths; and she cared for Harry, which touched Draco enormously.

"Good idea," he agreed, levitating Harry as he stood up, so that he was light enough for Draco to carry in his arms without risking falling over. He was a little embarrassed to take Harry away from his own party; but as they got to the hall, Luna simply announced loudly over the gale of laughter going on that "Harry's going to bed now" in such a matter-of-fact voice that he had no problem adding, "I'll be back down soon."

"Don't hurry!" Fred replied. "We're having a wonderful time."

Draco looked round, particularly at Blaise and Pansy, wondering if this could be true; but it was clear they really were enjoying themselves.

* * *

Somehow Draco got Harry all the way upstairs and undressed bed without waking him. But the moment he put him on the bed and let go to leave the room, the Gryffindor started to stir.

"Wass … hmmm… Draco?" he murmured incoherently.

"I'm here, Harry," Draco said.

"Head … hurts …"

Draco chuckled. "I'm not surprised. I'll get a headache potion." With that, he went back into his former room. Even as he did so, a whole load of feelings rose up. At the Manor, he had a whole suite, which he rattled around in and occasionally complained was too small; here at Grimmauld Place he had a single room he could call his own space, and since that first night he had not used it. His clothes were now in a wardrobe in Harry's room; the books and papers he had brought from the Manor were in the library downstairs; the only thing to come in here for was his potions kit, unused. Which meant that he had not brewed anything for a whole week. He would have to remedy that, soon. But first things first; he opened his supplies and found he had a good supply of headache potion, and yes, the other potion he wanted was there too.

He took two phials of headache potion – after all, Harry wasn't the only one who had been drinking – and one of the other, and went back to their bedroom.

_**Our**_bedroom. It was a nice thought, he decided, as he put one phial of headache potion on his bedside table, the walked around the bed to sit next to his lover.

"Here you are, Harry, drink this," he said, helping the raven-haired man up and giving him the headache potion.

"Ah, oh, better," Harry said in a relieved voice; the thousand hammers had stopped beating in his head now, and coherent speech was a possibility again. "Stay with me?"

Draco was torn. He desperately wanted to stay and comfort his lover; but Harry was drunk, and who knew what would happen? Draco would love to go further in their relationship; but what if Harry woke up remorseful, still thinking that he had forced Draco?

They really had to get past this, and soon. For the moment, he said, soothingly, "you need to sleep now."

"I'm sor-(hic)-ry Draco…"

The blond looked at him, cross. Would the man never stop apologising?

"What for? Being drunk? That's perfectly natural. Getting drunk? We all drank together, it happens, don't stress."

"No, for … for …" Harry began to cry.

"Hush, Harry," Draco said soothingly, annoyed with himself that he had let his irritation get across. "Here, I want you to drink this as well," he said, placing one arm around him and raising the second phial to his lips.

"Wass in it?" Harry asked.

"Dreamless Sleep potion," Draco answered as he tipped the potion up, then put the empty phial safely on the bedside cabinet. Harry settled down and Draco leant over him and kissed him.

"Goodnight, Harry, we'll talk in the morning. I love you."

With that, he left the room.

* * *

The others were now in the drawing room drinking firewhiskey when Draco came in, apologising that Harry was 'indisposed'.

Blaise handed Fred a galleon, asking, "how did you know?"

"Poncy pure-blood," Fred answered, with a grin.

"What's that about?" Draco asked.

"I bet Blaise you would say exactly that when you came back," Fred answered, smirking.

"It seems 'e knows you very well, Draco, And Mr Potter, 'e cannot take 'is drink, no?"

"Blaise!" Draco practically growled.

"What?" Blaise snarled back, and Draco realised all at once that Blaise had had too much to drink, too; but he was being an aggressive drunk, not a maudlin and sleepy one, as the Italian put his fists up, evidently spoiling for a fight. "So Potter is a milksop who cries and falls asleep from too much wine! You want to make something of it?"

George turned to him, and spoke in a quiet, stern voice, "Mr Zabini, Harry is our baby brother; and Draco is his lover. That makes him family. You take him on, you take us on. You against Malfoy, two Weasleys–"

"- _three_ Weasleys," Ginny corrected.

"—and one Banks," Robin interjected.

"- does that sound like a fight you want a piece of?" Fred finished up.

Blaise looked at Pansy. "What about you?" he asked.

"You got yourself in this mess, you get yourself out," she replied. "Harry is our host, you have better manners than to insult him so."

At this, the dark Italian shook his head and looked at the menacing forms of the twins. "Pah! So, you need to be protected by Weasels now, Draco?"

"Blaise," said Draco, the tone ice-cold, the warning unmistakable, "you are one of my oldest and best friends, and that's why I'm not going to hex you to hell and back, even though you deserve it. Aren't you listening? Harry is my lover, these people are my family. It's time to stop calling other people names. It's time to grow out of all that childish division we grew up with."

Blaise paused. He had heard that tone before, but never thought to be on the receiving end. It was truly frightening. "I think, maybe, I go home now," he said, softly.

"I think that would be wise. Do you want a hangover potion?"

Blaise sighed heavily, and seemed to pull himself together. "No. Thank you for the offer, but I think it's best if I just go now. Good-night." And without saying another word to them, he entered the Floo and was gone.

The silence was deafening.

Fred looked around at everyone. "Now, let's play Black Lady. Who's in?"

They all were. It was just what they needed, and they spent an hour on the game. Draco wasn't familiar with it, so they explained that it was a game involving rounds called 'tricks', where the object is to avoid winning points, particularly by not winning the Queen of Spades, who was worth thirteen points, in a trick; but in the Wizarding version it is much harder to avoid taking the Queen, as the court cards will go visiting one another, and you'd play, say, the Queen of Diamonds only to find the Queen of Spades in the frame as well when you gathered the trick up.

After half an hour, Draco decided there was no way to play for a win, so he gave up doing so and decided just to play to have fun. An hour later, when all the firewhiskey was gone, Draco realised, rather to his surprise, that he had enjoyed the game very much. At this point, Luna, Pansy and Neville bade everyone farewell, and Flooed to their respective homes, or, in Neville's case, the shop.

"He's still staying there?" Draco asked, somewhat bemused that Neville didn't have a home of his own.

"Oh yes," George replied with a wink, "it's there or his grandmother's. Must be a hard choice; if he's with her, she bosses him round, and if he's at the shop, he has to share his room with me."

Draco understood. _Hard choice my foot!_ Rather than think about just what might happen in George's room, he asked the four remaining guests if they would like to stay; they accepted the offer happily.

"Kreacher!" Draco called.

The house-elf appeared, rather bleary-eyed, and Draco gathered with a start that he must have gone to bed.

"Sorry," he said, then realised he was apologising to a house-elf without needing to (which is to say, without Granger, scrub that, Hermione, being present); he contented himself by asking, "are the rooms available as before?"

Kreacher swore under his breath, something about blood-traitors in his mistress's house, which Draco only half-heard. But he wasn't going to let it pass, and put on his most haughty Malfoy manner.

"Kreacher! You know Harry wouldn't put up with that, and neither will I! These people are our guests, kindly provide accommodation for them suitable for guests of a Black house. And then you may retire." The elf was looking mutinous and Draco knew what was coming: a house-elf who wanted to be disobedient would foul up deliberately and then punish himself. To forestall this, he added a rider: "And you may not punish yourself, is that clear?"

Kreacher grumbled about "overbearing jumped-up sons of …" He didn't complete the sentence as Draco was glaring at him. "Yes, yes, Master Draco," he continued, "nice Master Draco," and vanished with a pop. A minute later he was back; "rooms are being ready just as before, Kreacher has being airing them nicely."

"Thank you, Kreacher," Draco said, knowing that Harry would not be happy if he didn't show - what was Gra- Hermione's phrase? - 'kindness and understanding', that was it. Well, he could do that. "You may go back to bed. Apologies for disturbing you."

Kreacher hmmed and grumped, but seemed to go off happily enough. At which point, Ginny and Robin went upstairs to bed. Draco went up with them just to check that everything was in order; when he saw the queensize bed, he just smiled.

"You won't tell mum, will you?" Ginny asked, worried.

"Not a word," Draco replied. She was his guest, after all; it simply wasn't done to tell tales. "Do you have everything you need?"

Robin checked the bedside cabinet. "Yes," he grinned. "Good night."

* * *

Draco went back to the drawing room, pouring himself and the twins glasses of brandy. He wanted to talk to them; but how to begin? Harry had told him so much, but there was still more he needed to know, he was sure of it. He had some thinking to do. Principally about exactly what was going to happen to the Dursleys when he caught up with them.

"I''m glad you two are here," he said, deciding that openness and honesty were the only way to go. "Harry has told me a great deal of his past, and he opened up a lot tonight."

Both twins leaned towards him, excitement in their faces. "That's great! / He really needs to open up to someone. / We're so glad he's got you!"

Draco blushed. How had he ever despised the twins or thought they were no-hopers? But, truth to tell, he knew the answer to that: he had always seen them from the dark and dismal Malfoy point of view. His world had taken on a whole new range of colour since he had fallen in love with Harry. He had definitely taken on some of Harry's thinking; he could now see people as valuable for themselves, not just for what they could do for him.

He told them about over all the things that Harry had said: being called a freak; being kept in a cupboard until he went to Hogwarts; never being cuddled by a loving hand. He found himself opening up to these men like he never had to anyone before; he told them about that voice telling him Harry needed his comfort; he could certainly see the truth of that now. He told them about the vision of the obscenely fat man, whom he now knew to be Harry's uncle, Vernon Dursley, and his huge hand striking the tiny Harry, just a small boy longing for someone, anyone, to come and cuddle him. No wonder Harry had raised his hands in the kitchen just now, if that was what he was used to!

And the twins didn't mock him, or belittle him; he could feel a warmth from them, coming from a shared love for Harry. A love, he knew, that was no threat to his relationship with Harry; he had seen that so clearly at the party. It meant that he could talk freely to the Weasleys about everything to do with Harry, and he was finding that freedom truly liberating.

And so he came to what for him was the worst thing of all.

"They called him 'evil'," he said, gazing into his brandy balloon. "Harry Potter, the Saviour of the Wizarding World, the Boy-who-lived-twice, the Destroyer of Voldemort; they called him evil. Harry Potter, the kindest, most caring, most important person in my world, the person who gave himself to destroy the most evil monster of their time; evil?"

"And then your father told him they've convinced the Muggles that he's a dangerous criminal. Harry! A dangerous criminal! And they've moved back to their home, where Harry grew up, and taken out some Muggle thing called an "injuncture" or something like that that means Harry can't go near it. He grew up there, and his own family won't let him come and visit!"

Draco hadn't realised he was crying until he felt the arms around him as the twins now knelt, one on each side of him, holding him, not saying anything, just letting him sort himself out. It brought a lump to his throat, and for a minute he could not speak.

"Thanks," he whispered, once he got his voice back.

The twins sat down again.

"We can tell you a bit more," they said. "We went to the house three times. The first time was when he was in second year; he wasn't in the cupboard then, he was in a bedroom upstairs. / The smallest bedroom. / Hideous, nothing of any value in it. / With bars on the windows."

"Bars on the windows?" Draco mouthed. _Why?_

"Yeah, to keep him from getting out. / We ripped them off. But there were locks on the door. And it had a cat-flap."

"But – Harry can't have had a cat, he had that owl?"

"We think it was for food, Draco. We think they kept him in that room as a prisoner." George said, his face a mask of pure anger.

Fred continued, "the second time we went, Dad used the Floo network – temporarily connected; but their fireplace was boarded up, we had to destroy it to get out. / We saw his cousin then. Frightful piece of work. / More like a small whale than a boy. We 'accidentally' dropped one of our ton-tongue toffees and he ate it."

"What happened?" Draco asked, delighted that these two had played a prank on this horrible boy.

"His tongue swelled up. / Dad said it got to four feet long before they would let him shrink it. / But we think he was exaggerating. / We never saw anything get longer than three feet with that particular spell. Anyway, the last time we went to Privet Drive was when Harry finally left, and we all got attacked by Death Eaters."

"Privet Drive?" Draco asked.

"Yeah, 4 Privet Drive, it's their address. In a Muggle village called 'Little Whinging'."

Draco filed the address away in his mind. It might come in very useful. "Oh, I see," he said, covering up his curiousity and his joy at now knowing where they lived. "So, what happened?"

They told him all about the flight from Privet Drive, and how Mad-Eye had died, and George's ear had got cut off. He had heard bits and pieces of the story before, but now here it was, laid out in full. He now understood so much more of his own history, particularly the part his aunt had played and how his father had lost his wand.

And now, he felt, he understood enough of Harry's past to help him deal with it. There was still the matter of Harry's feelings about the Debt; but while they had been talking about the Dursleys, a plan had been formulating in the back of his mind. A plan he could put into place tomorrow.

All in all, it was a good night's work, he decided, as he suggested they all go to bed.

He snuggled up next to Harry, putting his arm over the sleeping boy. The raven-head was dead to the world; but he still stirred a little, and his hand moved to grasp Draco's.

"Oh Harry," he whispered, though he knew his words wouldn't be heard. "You are so amazing. We're going to help you sort it all out, I promise."

* * *

_**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **Grateful thanks as always to Bicky Monster for all their help._

_Thanks to all who are following and favoriting! Gives me a lovely warm feeling that you're interested. And double thanks to those who review - strawberry tarts to you all!_

_Seriously, reviews are much appreciated. _

_Replies: I do reply individually, but I also feel you should be acknowledged (and maybe other people want to know my answers to your questions too!)_

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___**Eternal Cosmic Sailor Saturn: **__'Pax' is Latin for 'peace'; it is (or was) used in British schoolyards to ask for a truce. Sorry if that wasn't clear._


	25. Returning to Their Senses

_**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** **WARNING: Here be smut!**  
The last scene involves M/M action. Yes, between them. No, not that, not yet. And even so, it's censored; the full version is on archiveofourown dot org.  
Enjoy!  
_

* * *

**25 Returning to Their Senses**

_Wednesday, 27 May 1998_

His head **hurt**! He groaned and moaned; what **had **he been drinking last night?

Then, slowly, it came back to him. Champagne, and elfwine, and firewhiskey. He should have known it was a mistake. "Never mix the grape and the grain," his grandfather had insisted, and certainly for him, it always spelt disaster. He wondered who he'd punched this time. It usually came down to punching, somehow.

But it hurt too much to think about it, so he rolled over and tried to go back to sleep. If only the pounding would stop. And the yelling.

Oh. Someone was there. "Whatsermatrbrdr," he mumbled.

"BLAISE!" the voice yelled. _Damn, they know who I am_, he thought. And then, as lucidity broke through, _it's Pansy._ He groaned again, and got up. It was no good trying to stay in bed; she'd only burst in and turf him out.

"Coming!" he yelled, wrapping a dressing-gown around him and stumbling for the door, wondering why she was there; no-one used his door, not when the Floo was available. Or she could apparate in. As he opened the door, she charged in like the Hogwarts Express pushing him back with the force of her entry.

"What do you mean by it, wards up, Floo closed, it's like you didn't want to see me!" she all but yelled. _Oh. _That's why she didn't Floo then. He held his hands up in the international gesture of surrender.

"I'm sorry, Pans! I open the Floo now, OK?" He did so; but of course it didn't do him any good.

"You've got a lot more apologising to do, mister, after last night!" she admonished him.

He looked at her blankly. "Last night? What … what happened last night?"

She looked at him searchingly, and decided he probably didn't remember. Which only made things harder, really. She'd have to go for shock treatment, she decided, and ticked off the points on her fingers.

"What happened? You came to dinner at Potter's house, invited by Draco; it was a very pleasant evening, right up to when Potter went to bed, and you called him a cheap drunk cry-baby milksop, said Draco needed Weasel protection, and put your fists up to Draco, three Weasleys and Banks. And I'm not sure what Longbottom thought, but I bet he'd have taken you on too if it had come to that."

Blaise sat on his sofa, his head in his hands. It was all coming back now. He so wished it would all go away again.

"Oh, God," he said softly.

'Yep," said Pansy, going into his kitchen to make him some strong black coffee. Well, someone had to make him see sense, and by the looks of him she could tell perfectly well he wasn't going to without at least a pint of espresso inside him.

* * *

Draco woke up with the sun in his eyes. He looked over at his lover, and watched as the light played over his face. He was glad that Harry had taken Dreamless Sleep potion; his raven-haired lover was still fast asleep, a beatific smile on his face, and the scene took Draco's breath away.

This beautiful man loved him. He still found it hard to believe. He gently smoothed Harry's hair and, still asleep, Harry arched up into the touch and gave a low moan of pleasure. It went straight to Draco's groin. But he didn't want to wake him, so carefully removed his hand and slid slowly out of bed. It was an agonising choice; his body screamed to wake his lover up and make love to him, but he knew Harry needed sleep, and he didn't want to go any further in their relationship until the issues with the Debt were fully resolved.

And so eight o'clock found him sitting in the drawing room, having showered, dressed and breakfasted. He decided now wasn't too early to make the call he wanted, so threw a pinch of Floo powder into the fireplace and stated the destination he was calling, as well as he could, not knowing the exact Floo address.

"Headmistress McGonagall's office, Hogwarts."

Luck was with him; the Headmistress was in her office, having a small conference with Professor Flitwick about the plan for the day, and she answered straight away, "who is it?"

"Headmistress, it's Draco Malfoy; please forgive me calling so early."

"Mr Malfoy. Nonsense, it's hardly early, and I'm sure you have a good reason for calling. How can I help you?"

"It's about Harry. Um, I guess you know about the Debt of Magical Emancipation I owe him?"

"Ooh! Ooh!" he heard in the background. It was Professor Flitwick "Forgive me eavesdropping, but really? I haven't heard of one of those recorded in the last two hundred years!"

"Perhaps you should come through, Mr Malfoy," said the headmistress crisply, "and we can discuss this more comfortably."

Draco considered this. Technically, he wasn't supposed to go anywhere without Harry's permission; but he was sure that this would be alright. He wrote 'At Hogwarts' on a slip of parchment, left it on the desk, and Flooed through to join the two teachers.

McGonagall steered them over to the lounge chairs she and Harry had sat in. She asked a house-elf for tea, and levitated over her tin of biscuits, offering Draco one. He remembered with a small smile that this was a sign of approval, so took one, even though he wasn't actually hungry.

"Now, you mentioned a Debt?" she started.

"Yes, and I was hoping that Hogwarts might have some information. Harry is worried that our, um, feelings for each other, is only because of the Debt …"

"But that's silly!" Flitwick responded. "Magical Debts may have a short-term, immediate effect on your affections; but they can't change how you feel permanently!"

"Really?" Draco asked, a new hope kindling in his heart. "Are you certain?"

"Oh yes," Flitwick answered, and Draco had trouble not grinning madly. "None of that old magic was ever really concerned with feelings, it was about making people do what was required regardless of how you felt. They might help you along at the beginning, but then it's force. That lack of concern for the participants is one reason why all that magic was banned."

Draco thought back to that day at Hogwarts, remembering the feelings he had had for Harry; yes, he had acted a bit strange, he realised; what Flitwick said definitely resonated with him. But if he was right, his feelings for Harry, Harry's feelings for him … _oh Merlin!_

"Do you have any documentation for this?" McGonagall asked.

"I'm sure I could find some! Hmmm.. " after a second or two of humming, clearly running through his books in his mind, he continued, "Yes! I have just the thing! Mr Malfoy, would you like me to have a word with Mr Potter?"

"Please, Professor."

"Very good. It can't be today, of course, there's so much to do and I'll need a little time to locate the book. I'll talk to him tomorrow afternoon."

"Thank you, Professor."

"Was there anything else, Mr Malfoy?" McGonagall asked.

"No, thank you, and I'm sorry to disturb you. Thank you very much for asking me through, and for your help."

"Stuff and nonsense, Mr Malfoy; you are still my student, and I would do anything in my power to help my students. As would Professor Flitwick. And it seems that I was unable to help anyway, but I'm sure Filius will do an excellent job. Incidentally, where is Mr Potter?"

"He's still asleep," Draco confessed. "He, ah, was rather agitated last night so I gave him a Dreamless Sleep potion. He probably won't wake up for another hour."

McGonagall looked at him sternly. "I hope you don't make a habit of dishing out Dreamless Sleep, Mr Malfoy. It can be habit-forming, you know."

"Of course he knows," a familiar voice insisted, as Snape appeared in his portrait. "I'm sure he took all the proper precautions. He did learn from me, after all. But, Draco, why exactly was Mr Potter so agitated?"

"We, ah, all had more to drink than might be wise," Draco confessed – he had never been able to keep anything from his godfather, and it seemed that this was still the case even though the man was in fact only a painting – "and he told me rather a lot about his childhood."

"Ah." Snape said. "Do look after him, won't you?"

Draco was taken aback; not so much at the words as at the tone. It rated as the first time he'd ever heard Snape have a kind word for Harry.

"Yes, do," McGonagall said, looking at him rather shrewdly. "I can't think of anyone he's actually discussed his past with before, Mr Malfoy."

"Um, well, he was under the weather a bit, so perhaps I shouldn't say anything then …"

"No, of course you shouldn't, until Mr Potter is ready," the headmistress agreed. "But we will help you any way we can. And if you do need to discuss anything, my door is always open for any of my students, past and present, Mr Malfoy. But right now, perhaps you should get back in case Mr Potter wakes and misses you."

"Yes. Right," Draco said, grateful for the clear dismissal, and he Flooed back to Grimmauld Place.

* * *

Harry was still asleep, so Draco stripped off to his boxers and lay next to him.

"Mmmmm…" Harry said, waking as Draco spooned against him. "What time is it?"

"Sh, Harry, it's twenty to nine, but you need your sleep. Is your head OK?"

"Mmmmm… Why wouldn't it be?" Harry said, and then he remembered how he'd felt when he went to bed. "Oh. Ooh.. Yeah, so much better, thank you." As he said this, Harry turned over and captured the blond's lips in a good-morning kiss. "Thank you so much."

They lay together quietly for a little while, and then all of a sudden Harry sat bolt upright.

"SHIT!" he said, turned bright red, and ran out of the room.

"What the …?" Draco asked, springing up himself. He heard Harry throwing up in the bathroom, and then the sound of the shower running. He wondered if Harry would mind company; but he discovered that the bathroom door was locked. Of course, Alohomora would take care of that; but if Harry had locked the door, he must want privacy, so Draco went back to the bedroom, dressed again, and went back to the drawing room to wait for him.

Half an hour later, a rather ashen-faced Harry sidled into the drawing room, to find Draco sitting reading one of the many books on old spells he had brought from the Manor.

"Good morning," Draco said. "I was looking to see if I could find some way to deal with Aunt Burga's portrait."

"Oh," said Harry, looking decidedly shaky, and sitting down on the nearest sofa rather quickly.

Draco looked at him quizzically. "Are you all right?" he asked, softly.

"Um… no," Harry decided. "No, um, I, ah, remembered what I said last night. I'm a terrible lover, burdening you with all that …"

Draco carefully put his book down after marking his place; even in times of high emotion, there were some things you had to do. He then quickly scooted over and sat next to Harry.

"Harry James Potter," he drawled, "you may be a terrible lover. I wouldn't know; you're the first real lover I've had. But you're **my** lover, and I want to know all about your past. Those people were horrible to you, I get that; you hate talking about it, I get that too. But please, please, tell me? I want to know how they hurt you, so I don't do it too. I want to help you heal, you can't do that if you cover it up. Will you let me? Please?"

Harry looked at the blond, tears in his eyes, and then grabbed him in a hug. They stayed in a strangely comfortable silence for half a minute or so, and then Harry let go and leant back on the sofa.

"How about I have breakfast," he asked quietly, "and then yes, I guess you're right, I need to tell someone, and there's no-one I'd rather tell than you."

* * *

It took the rest of the morning. Harry did tell Draco everything. All about growing up, being forced to work, being starved and beaten and shut away, in the cupboard before Hogwarts and then in Dudley's second bedroom during the holidays.

He explained about the blood protection meaning that he had to stay with the Dursleys for his own safety, even though they never cared for him. That calling him 'freak' became almost a term of endearment, certainly the closest they ever got. He told him about Dudley's parties and how he had never had one until Hagrid brought him a cake on his eleventh birthday. He told him about the visit to the zoo, and Draco's eyes twinkled at the thought of the snake scaring Dudley.

He told about blowing up Aunt Marge. He explained about the Triwizard Tournament, that it really was Barty Crouch Junior who had put his name in the Goblet of Fire. About the Dementors, and the Ministry revealing he wasn't allowed to do magic, and the trial. About how the Ministry had moved it, and how Umbridge and Fudge had been so against him. He told about how Vernon, no longer fearing his magic, locking him away all day. About the cat-flap being for food. About being let out once a day for the toilet – when they remembered; Draco didn't want to think about if they didn't.

He told Draco all the things he already knew from the Weasleys: the bars on his window; the rescue with the flying car; the disastrous attempt to connect the fireplace to the Floo network. He told him about how relieved he was when finally he could leave the place. He told about the Dursleys packing up and driving away, with only Dudley acknowledging him.

And the whole time he spoke in a soft voice, forcing away the tears. When he was finished, Draco, in tears himself at the horrors that had been recounted, asked him how Harry could sit there, so stony-faced.

"I've shed enough tears over the Dursleys, Dray. I want it to be over. I don't want revenge on them; I just want them out of my life. Well, Vernon, anyway. And maybe Petunia. Perhaps, in time, Dudley and I can reconnect and have awkward family gatherings together."

And Draco laughed at this, full of love and admiration for the incredible resiliance of this incredible man, who even now was trying to make light of the story. He knew that Harry's last words had been said for Draco's sake, and he loved him for it. He didn't even pull Harry up on the cutsie nickname. If Harry wanted to call him 'Dray', why the hell not? Harry had earned the right to call him anything he wanted, Draco decided.

Again they sat cuddling in silence. This time it was Draco who spoke.

"Harry, thank you so much for sharing that. You're not a terrible lover, you know; you've shared your pain with me, and I feel honoured that you have, not burdened. Thank you."

"Thank _you_," Harry echoed. Having Draco there, telling him, suddenly made it possible for Harry to imagine the thing he longed for. That he could move on. That it could be over.

"I don't think we're going to get any repairs done here today," he said, still trying to lighten the mood.

Draco smiled, and asked, "Shall we go to Hogwarts for lunch?"

They did.

* * *

Blaise was notable by his absence, which surprised Harry; he'd got the impression that the dark-skinned Italian wanted to help as much as he could. Draco didn't explain, contenting himself with pointing out that "no-one has to come every day, Harry. Helping here is entirely voluntary, after all. Millicent isn't here either, she's visiting family."

Pansy managed to draw Draco aside and tell him that she'd visited Blaise, who had gone into his usual blue funk about what an ass he'd been. Draco thanked her for looking after him; he knew Blaise would come to his senses and apologise soon enough, he just hoped it was before word got back to Harry about what he'd said. He wanted Harry to hear the whole story all at once from Blaise, rather than in bits and pieces from other people. If Blaise told him, Harry would know his contrition was genuine and not just sorrow at getting caught.

The rest of the afternoon passed happily enough. Draco had wondered if Harry would become distant, maybe feel remorse at having shared so much so deeply; but the opposite was true. He seemed to want Draco closer than ever, seeking him out as they worked, holding his hand, hardly letting him out of his sight. Even so, they managed to finish the fourth tower by afternoon tea time; Draco found that the closeness made their magic stronger somehow, all the spellwork seemed effortless, and the walls went up faster than any of the other towers had.

Winky brought them tea and fruit scones, and her eyes went wide when she saw that the building work was now complete. She vanished with the inevitable pop, and she and Flitwick reappeared a few moments later.

"Wonderful! Wonderful!" the professor chirped happily after he had inspected the third and fourth towers. "Your spellwork is impeccable! Mr Potter, Mr Malfoy, you have my deepest thanks. You have made a dream I have had for years finally come true!"

"Thank you Professor," Draco said, speaking for both of them. He could see that the emotion of the day was making it hard for Harry to speak at all, so he continued, "but of course the towers still need to be furnished and decorated."

"Of course, of course," Flitwick answered, "but there's plenty of time for that. There's plenty of repair work needed elsewhere; the Astronomy Tower still needs quite a bit of work to be safe to use. The eighth-year rooms can now wait until later. In fact, we might leave the decorating to the students themselves when they arrive in July, don't you think?"

And with that, the professor looked round again, sighed, "wonderful!" and, to their great surprise, grasped first Harry and then Draco in a hug. As he let go of Draco, he spoke to him softly.

"Thank you for looking after him. I think you have made more progress about the past, yes?"

Draco stared at the professor in wonder. How shrewd the man was! In reply, he only nodded, not quite trusting his voice, nor wanting to alert Harry. It was up to his lover, after all, to speak first.

"Good," Flitwick said, "very good," looking at them both and smiling. _Of course, Harry assumes he's still talking about the building_, Draco realised. Flitwick was a lot smarter and sneakier than a Ravenclaw ought to be!

Draco shook his head. He had to get rid of this 'Ravenclaw ought to be', 'like a Hufflepuff' thinking. It was exactly the same as the 'pureblood / mudblood' rubbish. Flitwick was Flitwick. And as a person, he was pretty darn amazing; and having him so obviously on their side made Draco feel a lot happier for the coming school year.

At this point he realised that Harry was speaking to him, and he hadn't heard a word.

"Pardon?"

"I said, shall we go and see if anybody's up for playing games?" Harry repeated.

Draco grinned. "Let's."

* * *

After playing Shuntbumps, and a couple of Seeker against Seeker snitch chases, they decided to dine at Hogwarts. Pansy Parkinson asked if she could sit with them; and Angelina Johnson, who had been working with Pansy in Millicent's absence, came and sat with them too.

"Fred tells me you had a bit of a night last night," Angelina remarked.

Draco looked daggers at her, but Harry was oblivious, saying, "yeah, well those two brought the most amazing game …" The conversation happily went on to the skittles game and other pranks the twins had invented. Whether Angelina had got the hint or not, she didn't seem to want to draw the discussion back into dangerous territory, and Draco was glad.

As they left, he thanked Angelina for her company. She looked at him strangely for a minute, then seemed to make a decision. "I'm not sure I should trust you," she said, bluntly, "but Fred does, so I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt, OK?"

Draco nodded. He wasn't surprised, really; he wasn't sure he would trust himself either if their positions were reversed. The threat was obvious: _make sure you deserve my trust, or else. _He was determined not to find out what 'or else' entailed.

Harry, who had been asking Pansy about Blaise (and not getting anywhere), turned to them. "What are you and Fred doing?" he asked. "Would you like to come round for a nightcap?"

Angelina looked from him to Draco, wondering how the blond felt about an invasion of Gryffindors; but Draco's face was inviting, holding no hint of scorn, so she said she'd ask Fred.

* * *

An hour later the four of them were sitting drinking brandy. Fred congratulated Draco on his skill at Black Lady, but Draco insisted it was just luck, and went on to talk about the skittles. _Again. _He thought. _Harry will smell a rat sooner or later._

But happily, it seemed it was going to be later. They discussed Grimmauld Place; Angelina, who had only been there once while it was the Order headquarters, was very impressed with the work they had done.

"Thanks," Harry said. "It's been great having Draco here, he's taught me a lot about repair work. But we don't know what to do about Walberga Black's portrait or the traps Mad-Eye set up for Snape. Which is a bit of a nuisance really as basically we don't use the front door and have to be quiet in the hall in case she wakes up and yells at us."

Fred looked puzzled. "But we weren't quiet last night," he pointed out, "especially when George finished that first game, we all laughed and cheered. So how come she didn't wake up?"

Draco had a sly smile on her face. "I might have accidentally put a sleeping charm on her," he confessed.

Fred's eyes lit up. "You sneaky devil!" he said. And then, a thought struck him. "That's it!" he all but shouted, "you could use the Ætérnam Sopor potion!"

"Everlasting sleep?" Draco asked. "OK, so she'd then be asleep permanently, I can see that helping, but how? I mean, I know that charms work, but I've never heard of anyone applying a potion to a painting."

"You need a wash," Fred said, warming to his theme. "Like we used for the Ugly Mirror prank. You put the potion into a special mix that George developed that binds it to the surface."

Draco looked worried. "Does that mean the picture is permanently damaged?"

"No," Fred reassured him, "we also developed a special solution you can use to get it off. George insisted that we be able to; we've always tried to make our products safe to use, and the effects reversible. Good thing too; I reckon Hermione would have gone totally mental if we hadn't had an antidote. As it was she made us use that on her handmirror straight after the party. Wouldn't let us go back to the shop except to fetch it."

"Have you tried it on a painting?" Angelina asked.

"Not yet," Fred confessed, "but it can't be that much different. Look, I'll talk the idea over with George if you like."

"Please." Harry agreed.

"I'd like to be part of that discussion too," Draco admitted; potions being very much his thing.

"I'm sure that will be fine," Fred said with a grin. Neville had told them about Operation Delighted Draco, and here was a chance to put it into practice. "As to the traps, what about Bill? After all, he works as a curse-breaker for Gringotts. I know it's Mad-Eye's work, so it will be brilliant, but if anyone can do it, I reckon Bill could. Do you want me to ask him?"

They agreed happily. A little while later, Harry, exhausted by the emotion of the day, started yawning, and their guests promptly excused themselves, pleading a busy day on the morrow; and so they were all in bed by ten o'clock. And when thoughts of the morning's conversation came into Harry's head, Draco stroked his back and reminded him they were together, they'd work through it together, and Harry was the best boyfriend in the world. He couldn't quite come at 'best lover' yet; that would have to wait until they were over the problems of the Debt.

Harry managed a night's sleep without nightmares.

* * *

_Thursday, 28 May 1998_

"One – two – three – **wake up sleepyheads!**"

Harry and Draco were up in an instant. Harry cast a Tempus, and, having recognised the voices coming from the drawing room, yelled back, "Oi! Eight o'clock in the morning is a bit early for a social call, isn't it?"

"Not from family," was Fred's cheeky reply.

"The day's half over!" George insisted. "And I've worked out your potion for you."

That got Draco moving. He was dressed faster than Harry would have thought possible, and raced down to discuss matters with George. Harry followed, at a rather more leisurely pace, and found George and Draco deep in discussion, bent over a cauldron they had already set up in the library, while Fred looked on, amused.

"Breakfast?" he suggested.

"Please!" Fred agreed. "We'd better give them some, too, I suppose; I'm sure they're too excited to think about such things."

Kreacher was happy to provide breakfast for the four of them; as Fred had hinted, it took a few minutes to get the attention of the potioneers, but when they finally got them away from the cauldron and into the kitchen, Draco's eyes lit up at the plates piled high with eggs, bacon, sausages, tomato and toast, and the four of them tucked in with an appetite.

After breakfast, George and Draco spent a happy couple of hours on the potion, while Fred and Harry Floo-called Bill, who agreed to come and look on Saturday morning, and then played Wizard chess together. As they played, Harry confessed to Fred that he had told Draco all about his childhood the previous day. He wasn't sure how Fred would take it; he couldn't have been more pleased with the response though.

"Good," Fred said, "I'm glad you've told someone. And I think Draco needs to know, he's really important to you, right?"

"Um, yeah," Harry agreed.

"So are you two, um, …"

Harry went bright pink. "No!"

"Why not?" Fred asked, without a hint of judgement in his voice, just sounding like a friend who wanted to know.

"It's the Debt," Harry explained. "I don't want to force Draco into anything, and I feel like that's what I'm doing."

"You're mental," Fred said, "you've got this gorgeous bloke who loves you, and you love him too, we can all see that, and you don't want to do anything about it because he might be under some enchantment?"

"Yeah, pretty much."

"And is this enchantment ever going to go away? Because if it isn't, surely you both just have to live with it?"

"I get that," Harry said, "but what if it does go away?"

And Fred did not have an answer for the hurt in Harry's eyes.

* * *

The potion worked perfectly; Aunt Walberga was now fast asleep in her picture frame, and going to stay that way indefinitely. They whooped and jumped in the hall corridor, but nothing would wake her.

"Brilliant!" the twins laughed. They had been shouted at rather a lot, and being called 'blood-traitors' every time they visited the Order had grown a bit tiresome.

"But, Harry, you look upset? What's up, little brother?" George asked.

"I just wish Sirius was here see this," the raven-haired boy admitted, and the twins understood at once: Sirius would so have loved to have put one over his mother like that. They grabbed Harry in a four-way hug that was more like a scrum; and Harry was amazed at how comfortable they were all becoming with one another. Draco, especially, seemed to be fitting in as part of the family, and it brought a lump to his throat all over again.

The twins stayed for lunch, then went back to the shop; Neville had been minding it, and George had promised to spend the afternoon visiting his grandmother with him, so Harry and Draco Flooed to Hogwarts and gave his apologies to Flitwick.

They arrived as most people were finishing lunch; and there were Blaise, Millicent and Pansy sitting together, Blaise looking very apprehensive. Draco sauntered over and sat opposite him, and Harry sat next to the blond, a rather puzzled expression on his face.

"What's going on?" he asked.

In silent answer, Blaise conjured plants in front of them. Draco understood at once: purple hyacinth, meaning "forgive me".

"What do you think, Harry?" he asked.

"I honestly have no idea," the raven-head replied.

"Blaise said some things about you and Draco the other night," Pansy started, but Blaise put his hand on her arm.

"Please," he said, "this is for me to say. I called you names, Mr Potter; a milksop and a cry-baby I think, and I called Draco a coward. I'm sorry. It was drink talking. Pansy has scolded me, and you can scold me too if you want. I deserve it."

Harry looked at him sternly. "Blaise, there's only one name I want you to call me: Harry. Got that?"

"Yes … Harry," the Italian replied.

"Good. Then I forgive you."

Draco smiled, and swished his wand lazily, producing a bunch of daffodils in front of Blaise.

"Really?" he said, hopefully.

"Really," Draco replied. "As Pansy said, we need all the friends we can get."

"Thank you _caro amico_," Blaise replied happily. He spotted the still-puzzled look on Harry's face, and explained, "Draco and I, we know the language of flowers. Purple hyacinth, that means, 'I stuffed up, forgive me'. Daffodils, they mean ''I forgive you, I am still your friend'."

Harry whispered something in Draco's ear, and the blond whispered back; then Harry made a small gesture, and a vine of ivy wrapped itself around the daffodils.

"Really?" Blaise asked.

"Yes, Blaise, I want to be your friend," Harry replied.

For the first time since they sat down, Blaise smiled. It was a lovely sight, Harry thought.

* * *

Flitwick cleared his throat. "I would like a word with you, Mr Potter; perhaps, as Mr Longbottom isn't here, Mr Malfoy and Mr Zabini might work together while we talk?"

This was agreed, and Blaise and Draco went back to continue work on the Astronomy Tower while Professor Flitwick took Harry to his office.

The first thing that struck Harry about Flitwick's office was that it was full of books. There was practically no empty wall space; it was all bookshelves. The desk, in the exact centre of the room, was covered with papers and books, but anyone could see that, while it looked a little untidy at first glance, in fact everything was arranged in piles; Harry was sure that Flitwick knew where everything on his desk was and could lay his hand on any desired piece of parchment in seconds.

The room was not particularly bright; but it certainly wasn't gloomy. In fact, the word that best described it was _cosy_. This was the room of a man you could always go to for help, Harry decided.

Flitwick waved him into an armchair in a corner, and sat in its pair opposite him.

"Now, Mr Potter," he squeaked.

"Please, call me Harry," the raven-haired boy said.

"Of course, Harry. Yes. Now, it's obvious that you and Mr Malfoy - shall I call him Draco?" Harry nodded. "Good. It's obvious that you and Draco are together, and I understand there was some business with a Debt; but I don't quite know what, and I think there's something making you unhappy about it."

Harry steepled his fingers. Flitwick had hit a nerve; and Harry decided that he needed someone to trust, and the Charms Professor had always been friendly. So, hesitantly, he began to tell the small man about the events after the Battle of Hogwarts, the Shield, the Debt, and how he and Draco were now lovers. The Professor smiled and nodded and made encouraging noises, and Harry found it surprisingly easy to open up to him. And finally he got round to the problem.

"So, we're lovers; but all the time I worry that I'm forcing Draco into something. What if he only loves me because the Debt makes him do so?"

Flitwick stared at him appraisingly; it was not unkind, and Harry had a strange feeling that the man was simply trying to work out the best way to help. In fact, he was musing on how easy it had been to play dumb to Harry, but he wasn't about to let the Gryffindor know that. Instead, he allowed enough time for it to look like he wasn't completely prepared, then suddenly swished his wand, and an old, blue book came out of a bookshelf on the other side of the room.

"I really don't think you should let that worry you, my boy," he said. "Here, this is about the only book I have with any detail on Debts of Magical Emancipation; it's not a particularly common subject. But I think you'll find it useful. Please, sit here and read it; I must go and supervise the works, but I shall be sure to look in on you in a little while."

And with that, he left Harry alone to read the book. A little while later, a house-elf appeared with a pitcher of pumpkin juice and a tray of scones, with Flitwick's apologies for not having offered them before. Harry smiled at this thoughtfulness and asked the elf to convey his grateful thanks.

* * *

"How are you getting on?" Flitwick asked.

Harry was startled. "Oh, hello Professor. Very well thank you. And thank you for the juice and scones, that was very kind."

Flitwick waved the compliment away. "Of course. Now, tell me what you have learnt."

"Well, the book you have given me is very interesting. It contains actual accounts from people involved in Debts of Magical Emancipation. And the thing that keeps coming up is how the Debt can force behaviour, but not feelings."

Flitwick beamed at him. "And what does that mean for you?"

Harry smiled, suddenly getting the point. "It means that Draco might protect me, and be honest with me, because he has to; but he doesn't have to love me; that's all him. And I love him, and that's all me."

"Exactly. I think you should talk to him about that, don't you?"

Harry grinned. "Yes, Professor, I think I just might."

* * *

They got into bed that night before Harry had managed to work out what to say. He lay there next to the blond, thoughts churning through his head. What exactly did you say? It was Draco who was good with words, not him.

_Fuck it, _he thought._ I don't need words. _

He slipped off his boxers, and reached over and squeezed his lover as he rolled him onto his back. Draco kicked his boxers off, looked at him, and smiled. Harry reached in to kiss those beautiful, so kissable lips, their bodies meeting and a very enjoyable sensation beginning in his groin; but then he broke away, and kissed Draco's chin, his neck and started to kiss all the way down the body he loved so much.

He could feel his lover growing tense, obviously wondering what was going on. He'd couldn't believe he'd never done this before; it just felt so good. He sucked at each nipple, Draco giving little moans of pleasure that were music to his ears; and then he kept kissing down, all the way down the Sectumsempra scar, finally reaching his destination.

Draco was standing to attention, ready for him. Gathering up all his Gryffindor courage, Harry licked, nuzzling the head.

"''S good?" he asked, anxiously, having only instinct to guide him.

"Fuck, Harry! Oh fuck, yes!" Draco almost shouted.

****** censored ******

"Oh … Draco … love you so much …" he said.

Draco was amazed at what Harry had just done with his mouth. _I guess he's got over the problem about the Debt, then, _he thought. But he didn't say anything – he didn't even try, he probably still wasn't capable of coherent speech. Harry whispered a cleaning spell and they collapsed, sated, into each other's arms, falling naked into a deep, deep, dreamless sleep.

* * *

_**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **Grateful thanks as always to Bicky Monster for all their help._

___Sorry to censor, but it is kind of the rules. The full version is on archiveofourown dot org._

_Thanks to all who are following and favoriting! Gives me a lovely warm feeling that you're interested. And double thanks to those who review - jelly donuts (or jam doughnuts, for the British) to you all!  
_

_Seriously, reviews are much appreciated. _

_Replies: I do reply individually, but I also feel you should be acknowledged (and maybe other people want to know my answers to your questions too!)_

_**sara:** Thank you. MPREG is still up in the air. But go on, stroke my ego more!  
_

_**Mayle: **I hope you've forgiven Blaise! As for Draco's concern, and being a dear, we did see a flash of the old nasty snarky Draco, so it's obviously still there when he feels threatened or uncomfortable._

**_MirrorFlower and DarkWind _**_How kind, as usual!_

_**Cherrie-san: **__Yes, but not yet! I do have plans for the Dursleys, but like everything else seems to in this story, it will take time! More developments in this chapter, of course.  
_

**_SlytherinMike: _**_Welcome, and thanks for your comments. I'm definitely trying for a touching romance so I'm glad you think it's working._

**_Gabby.w: _**_Thanks for your comment. I'm glad to hear you love my story; I hope this chapter was up to scratch!_


	26. Return to Trials and Tribulations

**26 Return to Trials and Tribulations**

_Friday, 29 May 1998_

Harry woke up slowly. He felt warm and comforted, though his covers seemed to feel different to usual. He opened an eye slowly, and discovered that it was because it wasn't his duvet on top of him. Instead, draped elegantly even in his sleep, was the naked form of Draco Malfoy.

He took the rare opportunity to study Draco's face in repose. It was, he decided after a couple of minutes, perhaps the most beautiful face he had ever seen. All of the anger and hardness that could be there – though less and less – was gone entirely. There was no trace of the 'Malfoy mask', and Draco's sharp features took on an unexpected softness.

But he couldn't stay there. He had a trial to go to; and there were more urgent and personal reasons why he needed to get up. So gingerly he manoevred his lover off him, adjusted the duvet over him and added a charm to keep him warm, and headed for the bathroom.

Twenty minutes later, showered and feeling considerably more comfortable, he returned to the bedroom, to find Draco stirring a bit.

"Come back to bed," the blond demanded. "It's cold without you!"

Harry laughed. "I'd love to, really I would, but I have a trial to go to."

This woke Draco up fully, and he looked at him seriously. "Oh, Merlin, I had forgotten that. Do we really have to go?"

"I have to go, but you don't. How about we see if Blaise is at Hogwarts this morning?"

"Yes, that might work," Draco said. He and Blaise had had a very long talk while Harry had been reading in Flitwick's office, and he knew that the Italian now understood how things really lay between them. Blaise had promised to be on his best behaviour with Harry in future (and it was a big step for him, Draco knew, not to say 'Potter' each time; but somehow, the Italian managed it, even though he did tend to stutter over the name); but some more time together without Harry, just to reassure Blaise that Harry wasn't going to monopolise Draco, would be a good thing, Draco decided.

Being now fully awake, Draco got up, showered and dressed. By the time he made it downstairs, Harry had breakfast all ready on the table.

"Where's Kreacher?" Draco asked, surprised to find Harry doing the cooking.

"Oh, Andy called, she was having some trouble with Teddy and your mother had a breakfast engagement and couldn't help. Since I have to go to the trial, I suggested I send Kreacher instead."

"I bet he wasn't happy about that!" the blond replied as he sat down to eat his breakfast.

"You might think so, but he seemed pretty happy once I explained that, as head of the Black family now, I regarded her as part of the family, and Teddy as the heir after me."

"Mm," Draco replied. "Harry, where did you learn to cook like this? It's amazingly good."

Harry blushed at the compliment, and replied, "um, you remember what I said about being forced to cook for the Dursleys?"

Draco's jaw dropped. "Oh, Harry, I'm sorry, of course, how stupid of me…"

But Harry stopped the apology in its tracks by kissing Draco's lips. "I know you didn't mean it, and I'd rather forget about it myself. I'm so very glad to cook for someone who actually appreciates it."

And, in his turn, Draco blushed.

* * *

Blaise confirmed that he was indeed working at Hogwarts all day, and would be delighted to partner Draco in Harry's absence. Draco then looked at Harry, questioningly.

"What is it, Dray?" Harry asked.

"Um, I need your permission to Floo," Draco reminded him.

_Oh God_, Harry thought. "Draco, I don't want you to feel like that. I'm your lover, not your jailer. How about we agree that you can use the Floo whenever you want to, as long as you are going somewhere absolutely safe, like the Manor or here, or you're with someone we both trust?

Draco was more than happy with such explicit trust being placed in him, and a few minutes later Flooed to Blaise's London _pied-a-terre._

"Draco, caro amico!" his friend said, his face lighting up with a huge smile. "So, you really aren't under P- Harry's thumb then?"

This had been one of the major sticking points in their conversation yesterday, so Draco was glad to be able to deal with it first up.

"Obviously not," he replied. "He's told me I can Floo where I want, as long as I'm in company and don't go anywhere silly."

Blaise raised his eyebrow at this, and Draco replied, "What? Very sensible restrictions. He just doesn't want me to find myself in a situation where I get attacked; or where I might have to attack without a witness and then get carted to Azkaban."

Blaise could see the sense in this. "I guess you were right; my judgement was too hasty," he said, passing Draco a mug of coffee.

"Eurgh! How can you drink this stuff! It's so bitter!" Draco said, making a face.

"Oh, sorry, I forgot you have to have sugar," Blaise replied, swishing his wand to summon the sugar bowl to them. Draco dumped three teaspoons of sugar in, and pronounce the result "bearable".

Blaise held his tongue. He viewed sugar in coffee as sacrilege, but he valued his friendship with Draco too much to say anything; they had been frineds for fifteen years, after all, and he was going back to Hogwarts too. The Slytherins needed to stick together.

* * *

Harry Flooed over to the Ministry, as Arthur had arranged by owl the previous evening. As he came out of the Floo, it occurred to him that this was the first time in over a week that he had done anything without Draco, and he felt an acute pang of loss. It must have shown on his face, because Arthur asked him if he was all right.

"Fine thanks," Harry said. Which is, perhaps, the greatest lie of all time; and certainly Arthur didn't believe him, that was obvious, as he looked him up and down.

"Missing Draco?" he asked.

Harry was stunned. "Got it in one," he agreed.

Arthur smiled. "I felt the same way about leaving Molly when we were courting," he said. "Anyway, to business. It's going to be a bit of an ordeal today, I'm afraid; Umbridge has two lawyers and we suspect that they've cooked up something to try to use the Potter Code to their advantage, so we'll all have to be on our toes. The Minister won't be there; we feel it's good to show the Wizarding world in general that we have every confidence in the Wizengamot, and Doge, without needing Kingsley there all the time. But I think I will attend, mostly to take care of you."

"Thank you, Arthur," Harry said, and meant it.

At this point, there came a knock on the door. Arthur, surprised, said "come in!" and the door opened to admit Libatius Borage.

"Ah! Deputy Minister, Mr Potter, I'm glad to have caught you both. We have had a small incident with the Expositor Falsitas potion."

"You haven't run out?" Arthur asked anxiously.

"Oh no," Borage replied, with a sly smile, "no, we suspect that the defendant has tried to subvert it."

"I didn't think that was possible?" Harry asked.

"It isn't, as far as I know," Borage answered. "But that isn't going to stop people trying. Some work has been paid for by the people claiming to represent Umbridge, and they seem to have decided that Expositor Falsitas and Veritaserum might cancel each other out. So I suspect that the defendant has taken a modified form of Veritaserum – one which will allow her to keep silent, but which she expects will stop Expositor Falsitas from working."

"Do you think this idea will work?" Arthur asked.

"I know it won't," Borage answered. "You know that we pretty much force people to drink a cup of tea before they take Expositor Falsitas?" Borage asked. The other two remembered this, and nodded. "The tea contains a completely harmless potion that reacts with anything that will hinder Expositor Falsitas," Borage continued, "and, by the way, tastes awful if you have taken such an antidote. The defendant complained that her tea tasted awful this morning, so I have given her the potion, and now made sure she doesn't take anything else."

"That's very clever," Harry said, delighted to have outfoxed Umbridge before the trial had even started. "Do you think she'll think she's protected from Expositor Falsitas?"

The smirk on Borage's face showed that Harry's point had indeed occurred to him. "Yes," he replied. "We should see some fun this morning."

* * *

The clerk of summons read out the charges: "It pleases the Wizengamot to call to trial Dolores Jane Umbridge, former Senior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic, former Professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, former Hogwarts High Inquisitor, former Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, former Head of the Muggle-Born Registration Commission, for crimes conducted during the tenure of these various offices, including: sending Dementors to attack Mr Harry James Potter; attempting to subvert the subsequent trial of the said Mr Harry James Potter for the use of underage magic by assisting the then Minister to move the time and location of the trial; failing in her duty as a teacher to provide an adequate foundation for her teaching and subject, contrary to the stated requirements of Professors at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry; use of outlawed and questionable methods of punishment, to wit, using a blood quill; –" for the first time in the recitation of charges, the assembly made a noise: a general shocked intake of breath, which the clerk seemed to ignore – "requiring students to take Veritaserum; threatening students with corporal punishment, contrary to the Code of Conduct for Professors at European Magical Schools; subjecting known witches and wizards to arrest and trial using methods of torture including dementors, outlawed since the forty-fourth convention of the Wizarding Assembly of twelve hundred and forty-five; decrying muggle-born magicals and referring to them as 'mudbloods' in official Ministry pamphlets; denying Ministry staff their deserved and accrued leave; failing to treat Ministry staff with respect at all times."

"A very impressive list," Elphias Doge, sitting in his customary seat overseeing the whole proceedings, opined.

"A tarradiddle of lies and imaginings," said a very portly wizard dressed in an astonishing set of red and mauve robes, that no doubt he thought imposing but which Harry thought made him look like a court jester.

"Ah," said Doge, not looking particularly pleased. "And you would be …"

"Prometheus Parturvithic, at your service, sir," replied the other wizard, with a little bow that looked more ironic than respectful to Harry. "Wizard in charge of the defense."

The look on Doge's face suggested that he wasn't impressed by the man's demeanour either. "I see," he said mildly; though Harry could see menace in his eyes. "A most unusual circumstance."

"Yes, sir," Prometheus replied. "And one which I hope we will convince the Wizengamot that it should become normal practice. I'm sure that Mr Potter would agree that we need to revise our court system, in light of his own experiences of it?"

"Mr Potter?" Doge asked, inviting Harry to speak.

Harry rose, his cheeks reddening at the thought of addressing the gathering so early in the trial. He had hoped to avoid speaking altogether, and now he was being drawn on what he suspected the man wanted to make the central issue: whether the Wizengamot was in fact competent to judge the woman who had been one of their own. "While I agree that my own experience does not inspire confidence, I believe that is down to a rather weak Minister who had taken over the Wizengamot. As that is no longer the case, I think we can have confidence in the present system, especially as there is a willingness to adapt to meet the needs of justice, is there not, sir?"

_Clever, Harry, _Arthur thought, as Doge and several other members nodded their heads in enthusiastic endorsement. By asking the question, he was definitely getting the Wizengamot on his side. _We might need that, _he thought. Umbridge was a tough opponent.

"Quite so," Doge replied, a summary that quietened everyone down. 'Now, Madam Umbridge, I must ask you to plead to the charges, and we shall of course take them in turn. We begin then with the matters relating to the trial of Mr Potter, and your alleged actions before that trial. In regard to sending Dementors to attack Mr Harry James Potter, how do you plead?"

Umbridge stood up. Harry noticed, sickeningly, that she had obviously been afforded courtesies denied to the Malfoys: she was not bound to the chair, and she was made up and wearing her own clothes. As always, her ensemble was in pink, with a large black velvet bow on top. Privately Harry thought she would actually have looked better in prison garb; she still managed to look like a toad with a fly perched on its head, just as she had done all those years ago when she started to teach Defense. If indeed you could call what she did teaching.

There was a simpering smirk on her face as she opened her mouth, But it was immediately clear that there was some sort of problem. Umbridge began to speak, saying, "I plead no—ah, that is, I would enter a plea of no—"

"Is there some sort of problem, Madam?" Doge asked. His voice was placid, but there was fire in his eyes.

Parturvithic leapt to his feet. "I think it is obvious that my client wishes to plead 'Not Guilty', sir."

"Do you," Doge asked, and the menace in his voice was palpable. "I don't agree. Madam, how do you plead? Guilty or not guilty?"

"I plead – I – I –" Umbridge spluttered, obviously fighting the anti-lying potion and just as obviously failing. After ten seconds or so of this, she eventually gave up, and said, very quietly, "guilty", as she sat down.

"I see," said Doge. "So, you accept that you sent Dementors to attack a fourteen year old boy, is that right?"

Umbridge glared at him, but his face was stony, and it was not long before her gaze failed and she looked down. "Yes," she said, quietly. Then she turned to her counsel, seeming to come to life. "Why isn't it working?" she demanded.

The Wizengamot erupted at this unexpected outburst. "SILENCE!" Doge demanded. He turned to Umbridge, and there was no mistaking the anger in his face this time. "Why isn't **what** working?" he demanded.

Umbridge's face had gone ashen, and the simpering, almost cocky air from before had entirely disappeared. "We thought – I was told –"

"You were told," intejected Borage, "that taking a Veritaserum derivative would block the action of the Expositor Falsitas potion and allow you to lie to the Wizengamot. You were told that this was your best chance, to actually lie to us, presenting a poor, pretty, put-upon little lady who always did what the Minister wanted and never thought for herself?"

"I DID always act for the Ministry," Umbridge insisted, but then found she couldn't stop herself adding "as long as its interests were the same as mine…"

"It seems, Madam Umbridge," said Doge, his quiet but venomous voice breaking in, "that we cannot really trust your testimony. Accordingly, we shall follow a precedent set eighty years ago for people who refuse to take Veritaserum: your testimony will be taken as usual, but will not by itself be sufficient to acquit you; though it may well show your guilt. Thus, we see you did set the Dementors on Mr Potter; and did you also attempt to subvert his trial by moving the time and location of the trial?"

"That was Fudge's idea!" Umbridge shrieked. "I only did what he said!"

"There are plenty of Death Eaters who have appeared before us in the last weeks who only did what Voldemort said," one of the elder members of the Wizengamot broke in, "and are now in Azkaban for doing so. Merely following orders is no excuse if those orders are unconscionable!"

Parturvithic snarled at the man. "I thought you had resigned, Ogden?" he demanded angrily.

"Tiberius Ogden is a valued member of the Wizengamot," Dalmatea Merrythought replied for Doge. "He did resign, in protest at the defendant's actions; but he has been reinstated in full. Perhaps you think he should recuse himself, given his past resignation?"

"Yes, I do," Parturvithic replied.

"Tough," said Doge. "If everyone who disliked the defendant recused themselves, we would not have a representative body to cast judgement. And it seems rather irrelevant given that we have two guilty pleas before us already."

"My client has entered no plea to the second charge!" Parturvithic said belligerently.

Doge looked at him as though he were insane. "She has told us that it was Fudge's idea, that she executed. Is that not correct? Madam Umbridge?"

"Yes," she replied sullenly.

"So, then, guilty. Now, we turn to your actions at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The charge of using a blood quill happily involves someone in front of us. Mr Potter, would you care to elaborate?"

Harry would much rather not have done so, but this wasn't exactly an invitation he could refuse.

"Profess—Madam Umbridge did not accept that Voldemort had returned, and called me a liar for saying so. Her punishment was to make me use a blood quill to write the lines 'I must not tell lies' until the words were permanently marked on my skin. Like this," he said, pulling up his sleeve and displaying the words still visible there.

Doge turned to Umbridge. "Do you deny this?"

"It would be foolish to!" she replied. "At the time, I truly believed that Mr Potter was a liar; though subsequent events showed that was not the case. So I merely did what I thought was the best thing to teach Mr Potter an important lesson about accepting the wisdom of his elders and betters."

Harry clamped his mouth shut. He wasn't going to rise to the bait. And happily, Doge simply fixed his eyes on her and said softly, "his elders, yes." The lack of the next words was telling.

The trial continued on through the rest of the sorry history of Dolores Umbridge's time at Hogwarts, and then the discussion went on to the Muggle-Born Registration Commission, which Dolores had been the first and only head of. There was a general outcry as the actions of the Commission, which had not been common knowledge, were exposed for the Wizengamot's attention.

By eleven o'clock the proceedings were winding down, and it was clear that the Wizengamot had not a shred of sympathy for Dolores Jane Umbridge. There didn't seem to be anything left to discuss as Parturvithic rose to his feet, and Harry wondered what he was going to try now.

"My dear witches and wizards, ladies and gentlemen all," he began, and the unctuous oiliness of his tone made Harry want to vomit. "My client has, as you see, pleaded guilty to your charges. But surely we must now consider the Potter Code. My client's actions, as have been established, were due to instructions given to her by others, or motivated by her desire to act in the best interests of and for the name of the Ministry. Surely, if you can give two known Death-Eaters probationary sentences, you can find it in your hearts to accept that my client deserves a second chance? Or does the Potter Code provide one rule for Mr Potter's friends and another for those he dislikes?"

_So, _thought Harry. _This was it. _An appeal to the Potter Code, and the implicit statement that to free Draco and Lucius but not Umbridge would be unjust.

"Mr Potter, is there anything you would like to say in response to this plea?" Doge asked him mildly.

Harry rose to his feet. What could he say? It was true that he couldn't countenance sending the Malfoys to Azkaban; the Debt bound him to them in subtle ways as well as them to him; and it was also true that Dolores Umbridge was one of the few people he had ever met who he would cheerfully have sent off to that hell-hole, and wanted to apologise to the Dementors for sending her there. How could he make it clear that there was a real, objective difference between the cases?

And then he saw it.

"My dear witches and wizards, ladies and gentlemen all," he began, in conscious imitation of Parturvithic, and then stopped. "It's pretty stupid, isn't it. It's pompous words to stroke the ego. But we didn't get that from the Malfoys. The core of their argument was simple: their family was threatened. They did what they had to do, but they acknowledged that they did wrong. You gave them second chances, begrudgingly in Lucius's case, after that acknowledgement. And because they wanted to help rebuild our society."

"They didn't try to argue that wrong was right. They didn't say, as Umbridge had, that they were following orders. They received the second chance only once they had agreed that they needed it. That it was for this body to decide to punish them or not, as it saw fit. And that if they were freed, they would take up responsible roles in our society. Have we seen this from Madam Umbridge?" Harry spat the name out. "No, we have not. She has fenced, and prevaricated. She has tried to avoid the anti-lying potion. She has tried to excuse her actions. The Malfoys did none of this. The Potter Code isn't a get-out-of-jail-free card;" and even though the Wizengamot had no idea of such Muggle games as Monopoly, Harry could feel them with him and knew that the idea was understood even if they didn't get the reference, "to get a second chance, you have to accept you totally stuffed up the first one. That you don't deserve it. And that you're going to do something with it that isn't just about you, but about helping everyone. Is that so for Madam Umbridge?"

Leaving the Wizengamot with this question, Harry sat down. "Well done," Arthur whispered, and Harry looked around at the assembly. Everyone who caught his eye gave him some little sign of encouragement – a little smile, or a tiny 'thumbs-up' gesture; Borage even gave him an odd sort of salute.

"Well, thank you, Mr Potter," Doge said. "Now, I think, would be an appropriate time for us to ask the non-members to withdraw while we consider the testimony given today."

With that, Harry and Arthur were escorted back into the adjacent room and given tea and biscuits, while Umbridge and the team she had hired were taken back to the holding cells. Harry idly wondered if they would get tea and biscuits, before deciding that he didn't really care.

They were called back in just after half-past twelve.

"We have reached a verdict," Doge intoned. "The guilt of Madam Umbridge is clear, and the severity of her actions, particularly as regards muggle-borns and the Dementor attack ordered on Mr Potter, warrants her imprisonment in Azkaban for the rest of her life. As for a second chance under the Potter Code, our answer to Mr Potter's question is a resounding no. There is not the faintest suggestion of remorse in anything we have heard today. Nor any suggestion that Madam Umbridge might help our society in any way. On the contrary, we are unanimously convinced that she is a danger to wizarding society and has no desire to serve in it. Accordingly, the sentence stands: life imprisonment. Take the prisoner away."

"NO!" Umbridge yelled, staring at the two Aurors who had moved forward to take her away. "You PROMISED me you'd get me off!"

Something in Harry started. He recognised the Aurors: Crockford and Barnes. It figured. A thought hit him like a Hippogriff at full speed: _how had she got the potion?_ He stood up.

"Yes, Mr Potter?" Doge asked, polite as ever.

"How did she get the potion? The one that she tried to avoid the Expositor Falsitas with? It must have been delivered by an Auror, no-one else could have got close enough …"

"What exactly are you implying, Potter?" Crockford snarled at him.

The two Aurors had turned and were facing him now, and in answer, Harry hardly even had to cast a spell: the words 'Signum Revelare' seemed to flow out of him, red light floating over to the Auror on the left's sleeve, and suddenly it burst into flame. A mark appeared on the skin underneath.

"Damn you all!" the Auror shouted, his wand suddenly out, and he would probably have caused a lot of harm if Harry's instinctive 'Expelliarmus!' had not disarmed him before he could fire off a single hex.

There was instant tumult and shouting, and Arthur paled at the significance of a previously unknown Death Eater inside the Aurors, as Tombinias Barnes screamed in agony, his arm on fire, his cover now completely blown.

* * *

It took until half-past one for everything to get sorted out. Barnes survived the flames, and being caught, quite literally, red-handed, the Wizengamot had had no hesitation in sending him to Azkaban as well, after snapping both his wand and Umbridge's in front of them. Crockford was wandering around like a dazed man; he was sent to St Mungo's for full investigation.

Lunch was very late; but, to thank Harry for his help, Doge, the Minister and his deputy offered to take him to the most expensive restaurant in Diagon Alley. Harry apologised that fancy restaurants weren't really his thing, and Kingsley chuckled. "Don't worry, Harry, you'll be fine."

And so two o'clock found them sitting in 'Le Jardin Magique', the exclusive estaminet known to very few, drinking elf-wine and eating some of the nicest food Harry had ever tasted. He was relieved to find that, despite having a French name, the place was not at all pretentious; each table was set in its own room, and diners were able to choose their own garden for the duration of the meal, whatever flowers and greenery they wished being magically created. Harry had asked for the simple English cottage garden he'd longed to have while growing up, and he found sitting in it so absorbing and peaceful that his companions had to remind him to eat.

During the meal they discussed the interview with Rita Skeeter that he was going to do the following day, and how the events of Umbridge's trial worked in. After a little thought, Harry decided that in fact the Wizengamot's decision could be explained quite well from the statements of the Potter Code that they had given him earlier, and he found that the fact that he could answer all their questions made him feel hopeful that he wouldn't make a complete arse of himself the following day.

Turning from the subject of the interview, Kingsley asked what plans Harry had for the following morning, and Harry answered that he was going to meet Arthur at eleven o'clock to consider the interview in depth, but otherwise had no plans.

"Excellent," Kingsley said. "There is something else I think you should do – we will make an appointment for you, if that's all right."

Harry was rather surprised, but nodded, realising he'd rather dropped himself in for it. Now the Minister knew he had nothing else on, he could hardly refuse.

As they were eating, the _maitre d'hotel _came over to the table.

"I trust everything was to your satisfaction?"

Harry thought for a second. There was, he realised, just one thing about the meal he would change.

"I wonder," he asked, and explained what he would like; would it be possible? The _maitre d'hotel _was delighted; of course, for Mr Potter, there would be no problem. He happily supplied Harry with the parchment and quill he needed.

All of which explains why it was after quarter to five when Harry, making a short stop at a little shop in Diagon Alley, Flooed to the Great Hall at Hogwarts, wondering what sort of day Draco had had.

* * *

Draco and Blaise worked hard on the Astronomy Tower all morning, together with Neville and Seamus, strengthening the stairs that the Death Eaters had all but destroyed as they fled after Dumbledore's death, and which had never properly been repaired; Millicent and Pansy teamed up with Cho Chang and Angelina Johnson, performing renovation spells on the exterior of the Tower.

At lunchtime Flitwick made an announcement.

"We are making fantastic progress!" he said in his high, chirpy voice. "I am delighted to announce that the main repair work to the Astronomy Tower is now finished, and the Eighth Year Tower has been built; there are still some repairs to the Gryffindor Tower needed, and some of the quoins and walls around the castle, but other than that, the main restoration work of the external structure is complete. By the end of next week, we should be moving on to the many minor repairs inside the castle. So, given such wonderful progress, and as it is a beautiful afternoon, I suggest we stop work and have an impromptu Quidditch match!"

They'd all hoped this was coming, but were delighted when it actually happened. There were to be two teams, of course; Flitwick produced purple Quidditch robes for one team and orange for the other, explaining that these colours were not house colours so no-one would feel slighted. To his delight, Draco was chosen as Seeker for the Purple team; and Cho Chang was equally delighted when shewas chosen as Seeker for Orange.

The game started at two o'clock; by half-past four, Cho and Draco had seen the snitch twice each, and Draco had nearly been hit by bludgers four times to Cho's five. Draco pulled up next to Cho, looking around; it suddenly occurred to him that they were very exposed out there. Cho could see worry in his face, but did not understand the problem.

"What's up, Malfoy? Scared Orange will pound Purple into the ground?"

"No, actually, worried that I can't quite afford to trust everyone."

Cho understood immediately. "I'm sure – yes, look, there's Flitwick and McGonagall and Slughorn keeping a very close eye on everything. You'll be fine, Malfoy. Just relax while I whip your arse!"

Draco grinned. "You wish," he said, zooming off to continue seeking the snitch.

Ten minutes later, he was rewarded with another glimpse of the small golden winged ball. And this time he was determined not to let it get away. He chased after it, diving down, levelling out until finally, with Cho suddenly hot on his heels he reached out, fingers grasping, extending … and then in a final adrenalin-filled rush, he caught it!

And then the world went black.

* * *

Harry came out of the Floo into an empty Great Hall. At first he was surprised that there was no-one about; but then he realised, of course, they would be busy repairing around the castle, there was no reason for anyone to be here particularly. Then he heard it – an unmistakable noise of general alarm. He raced to the front doors, and the noise became appreciably louder as he went through them. It was coming from … the Quidditch pitch?

_Merlin! Draco!_ he thought, remembering that Flitwick had promised Quidditch today if all was up-to-date. And a Quidditch pitch was a dangerous place, even if you weren't a former Death Eater with other Death Eaters out for your blood. He raced to the pitch, his magic swirling around him, becoming almost tangible. As he entered the pitch, a chaotic scene greeted him. On one side, he could see two teams in Quidditch gear, one orange, one purple; in front of them, on the ground, was a stretcher, on which he could see the supine body of Draco Malfoy. In front of him was ranged an odd assortment of wizards and witches all with wands drawn – he could make out McGonagall, Flitwick, and Zabini nearest to him. Facing them were about half-a-dozen figures, all in dark robes and hoods. Between the two camps was a pair of shields, red and blue, obviously one raised by each side, and Harry could see that the blue one nearest his friends was wavering.

It took him only a very few seconds to take all of this in before he unleashed his own magic. A _Protego Maxima! a_imed at the shield in front of his friends visibly strengthened it; before, it had been buckling at the top, but now stood straight up; and the colour changed as his own, green, magic merged with the blue to create a cyan-coloured wall of magic.

At the same time, he fired off an _expelliarmus_, which passed through the red shield, tearing it to shreds, and hit the opposing force. Immediately their wands flew out of their hands towards Harry; with his Seeker reflexes, he had no trouble gathering them in as he simultaneously fired off StupefyandIncarcerous charms at the enemy.

Within thirty seconds the fight was over; but Harry had no interest in anything but the form lying on the stretcher. He raced to Draco's side and grabbed his hand.

"Hello, Harry," the blond said, weakly. "Never a dull moment, it seems." Then, obviously exhausted by even this much effort, Draco lay back on the stretcher. Harry placed his hand on Draco's heart; it was beating strongly. Madam Pomfrey, who had been hot on his heels, having heard the commotion more or less at the same time that he had arrived, leant over and performed diagnostic spells on the lad.

"Is he all right?" Harry asked anxiously.

"He'll be fine," she pronounced. "He was Stunned, but nothing more."

"That will be because Zabini had the good sense to cast a shield over him immediately," McGonagall added.

Harry stood up and looked Blaise in the eye. "Thank you," he said fervently, with a sarcastic glint in his eye as he continued, "if the thanks of a milksop are of any value to you."

Blaise snorted and his face went red. It was strange to see on the swarthy Italian. "Harry, I am so ashamed that you remember that! We had been fighting those bastards for ten minutes when you arrived, and we were losing; you took care of them in ten seconds. I'll never call you a milksop again! I have never seen such power!"

Harry smiled at him, and extended his hand. If Blaise was surprised to find a piece of parchment inside it as he shook it, he didn't show it.

"Is Draco all right?" a voice asked anxiously behind him.

Harry turned, to find Millicent and Pansy standing, still with wands drawn, looking at Draco with concern. It warmed his heart, and looked at the group of people who had been holding the line. There were the three Slytherins, the two teachers, Neville, Dean and Seamus. _Who would have guessed it – Gryffindors and Slytherins united!_ he thought, as the two teachers met four rather breathless Aurors who had suddenly appeared, apologising for taking time to get there. Harry decided that they must have been informed only after he had arrived; he needed to check this out though. If there was any residual ill-feeling in the Aurors about the Malfoys, it had to be rooted out. Especially after this afternoon's events with Barnes and Crockford.

"Harry?" Draco's voice broke into his thoughts. Blaise had helped him to his feet, and he stood rather unsteadily. Harry reached over to him and held him close, finding the blond was shivering. Why he wondered? Fear? Or something else?

Draco moved out of the embrace, and Harry looked at his face. No, not fear.

Rage.

"Where are they?" Draco asked, his voice soft, too soft, bringing to mind the soft hiss of a snake coiled to strike.

Harry walked with him over to where the attackers were now standing, one Auror standing between each pair, holding them none-too-softly.

Draco cast some sort of revealing spell, and the six hoods went down to make plain who the attackers were. Harry was sick to his stomach to discover that three of them he recognised from his school-days; one of them, wearing a gold necklace and clearly the ringleader, spat at Draco.

"Damn you, you pathetic excuse for a Slytherin!" he shrieked. It was the former Slytherin Chaser, Marcus Flint.

Draco went up to them and placed his wand at Marcus's throat. The Aurors visibly tensed, poised waiting for something to happen; but to Harry's surprise, did not attack, obviously prepared to hear Draco out.

"You know that, even in friendly games, Quidditch is so dangerous that hexing me during one gives me the right to kill you, don't you?" the blond said in that frighteningly quiet voice.

"You can't prove it was me who did it," Flint said, darkly.

"I don't have to, do I? Hmm? You're the ringleader of this gang, you get to take the punishment or the praise, it's the Death Eater way, isn't it, Marcus?" Draco said, almost spitting the words out in his fury.

Marcus looked at the ground, then snapped back up to Draco. "Yes," he hissed. "Get it over with, then."

"No," said Draco. "Killing you would give your actions some honour. Attacking a wizard flying on a broom, without a wand, has no honour at all; I'm not giving you any." He turned to the Auror holding Flint. "Take them away, please."

"With pleasure," the Auror replied, and roughly jerked his two charges away. The other two Aurors holding prisoners did likewise, and they made their way out of the Quidditch pitch.

The remaining Auror apologised to the Headmistress for the failure of wards, and to Draco for not stopping the attack.

"I must take some of the blame," Flitwick added. "Flint wrote asking if he could help, I said of course, and gave him the Floo address for the Great Hall, and allowed him through. I'm sure he then let the others in."

Draco's heart almost stopped at this; it was so like how he had let the Death Eaters in himself during his sixth year. Harry must have realised this too; for the raven-head wrapped his arms around him, saying "not your fault this time, Dray."

Draco stood tall. "I can't complain that you're so willing to extend friendship and forgiveness, Professor," he said to Flitwick. "I am, after all, a beneficiary of it myself …"

The tiny man looked at him, and his eyes twinkled as he thanked Draco.

At this point, the shock rather caught up with the blond, and he could hardly stand any more. He turned to burrow his head in Harry's chest.

"Take me home," he asked.

* * *

_**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **Grateful thanks as always to Bicky Monster for all their help._

___You can also find this story on archiveofourown dot org._

_Thanks to all who are following and favoriting! Gives me a lovely warm feeling that you're interested. And double thanks to those who review - Fortescue's chocolate and raspberry sundaes to you all!  
_

_Seriously, reviews are much appreciated. _

_Replies: I do reply individually, but I also feel you should be acknowledged (and maybe other people want to know my answers to your questions too!). Please do log in to comment, I enjoy responding individually.  
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_**HarryPottersGirl2010** Welcome! I hope the chapter lived up to your expectations._

_**Gabby.W** How kind! __″Best lovers″ will come; but the story does seem to unfold slowly.  
_

_**Mayle** I'm sure Blaise appreciates it! :^) Indeed, he shouldn't drink, or at least not mix his drink. I hope you enjoyed him redeeming himself a little!  
_

_**IamACritic** Purrrrrrrr._

_**MirrorFlower and DarkWind** Kind as always. I love Flitwick too._

_**sara** Thank you for your support! Delighted that you find RtS beautiful, and enjoy my writing. Very kind._

_**helen** We shall see!_

_**Yume** Soon enough?_


	27. Anxiety Leaves and Returns Again

**27 Anxiety Leaves and Returns Again**

Harry sat in the drawing room at Grimmauld Place, rocking Draco in his arms. The blond had gone completely into shock, and had not stopped shivering for the last hour. Harry was beginning to think that his own ministrations were not enough; but who else? If their positions had been reversed, he decided, he would have wanted Molly Weasley. And that thought made up his mind for him.

He carefully lay Draco down on a sofa and Accioed a blanket for him. Then he knelt down and placed a Floocall to Malfoy Manor.

* * *

Narcissa and Lucius had guests over for drinks. People that Lucius knew from the Ministry, people who he still had information on, people he hoped would be useful. And, unfortunately, people who bored him rigid. In the middle of a hilarious – to judge from Narcissa's appearance – anecdote, a house-elf apparated beside her.

"Yes, Mappy?" she asked the elf.

"Please excusing me Mistress Narcissa, Master Harry Potter is being Floocalling in your study," the house-elf told her, his eyes very wide, evidently in awe at having spoken to the Boy Who Lived Twice.

"Thank you, Mappy," she said, and turned to her guests. "Please excuse me, I must take this call from Mr Potter."

Of course they all murmured in agreement, and Narcissa reached her study quickly. As she closed the door, the laughter she had kept inside bubbled out.

"Narcissa?" Harry's voice said, and she sobered up at once to hear the concern in it.

* * *

Narcissa and Harry sat talking quietly in the kitchen. Draco had finally managed to fall asleep on the sofa a few minutes before. She had only been there for half an hour, but it felt like much longer; seeing her son so stressed and shocked took its toll on her.

"I'm very grateful to you for calling me, Harry," she said.

Harry looked dumbfounded. "No, it's I who should be grateful," he replied. "I knew he'd want his mother, and you dropped everything to come to his side."

Narcissa looked at him fondly. "Of course," she replied. "He is my son."

He smiled again. He was beginning to love Narcissa Malfoy.

"Would you like to stay? I think Draco would be glad to have you here when he wakes."

"That sounds like an excellent idea. Thank you for the invitation," she said, and the tone made what could have been mere politeness into a geniunely loving response.

"Kreacher!" Harry called, but taking care to keep his voice soft so as not to wake Draco.

The old house-elf had come back from Andromeda's house during the afternoon, having made dinner for her and Teddy. He came out of his little cubbyhole in the kitchen, muttering to himself. "Kreacher never gets a moment's peace, sent here, sent there, always busy, always – MISTRESS CISSY!"

"Shh!" she admonished him. "Master Draco is asleep."

"Kreacher is being very sorry," the elf said, mournfully, then brightened, 'but Mistress Cissy! A daughter of the Blacks! Kreacher being delighted to see you!"

Narcissa laughed, and Harry asked, "Kreacher, Narcissa will be staying the night, could you sort out a room for her?"

Kreacher swelled up like a balloon with pride and his eyes went huge at the privilege of serving a Black. "At once!" he said, and disapparated with a pop!

"Harry?" an uncertain voice called out. It seemed that the noise had woken Draco.

_Damn_, Harry thought, excused himself, and raced up the stairs, to find that Draco was much calmer after his nap.

"Thank you for letting my mother come," he started to say, but Harry shook his head.

"Of course. She's welcome here any time, Draco. And I could see you needed her."

At this point, Narcissa herself entered the room, having come upstairs at a rather more dignified pace than Harry. "You're looking a bit better, Dragon," she said. "How are you feeling?"

"Tired. And hungry," Draco confessed. "And still very angry with Flint. But thank God for Blaise. When I came to, he was standing between me and them, and holding the shield all by himself. That's why it was so weak, Harry; the others joined quickly, but those bastards had a six-to-one advantage to begin with."

"I was so frightened for you," Harry confessed, "but it was amazing to see the Slytherins and the Gryffindors standing shoulder to shoulder to protect you. It gives me more hope that maybe, just maybe we can make the whole thing work. But, if you're hungry, let's eat. Mrs – Narcissa, have you dined?"

"No," she replied. "In fact I owe you a vote of thanks; your Floocall interrupted me just as I was about to have a rather dull dinner with some acquaintances of Lucius's from the Ministry."

"Dull?" Harry asked, confused. "You sounded like you were having a great time when I Flooed you."

Narcissa threw her head back and laughed. "No, Harry, it was your timing! You called just as Cuthbert Mockridge was half-way through a very dull story about the first time he was Head of the Goblin Liaison Office. Of course I had to pretend it was hilarious; he's now been reinstated following Cresswell's death during the war, and so Lucius thinks he's a useful contact to keep the goblins on-side.I was delighted to be called away, and even more so that because it was you, no-one could feel upset."

* * *

Dinner was a very strange event. Kreacher refused point-blank to have 'Mistress Cissy' eat at the kitchen table and insisted on feeding them in the dining room. The meal – a wonderful beef stew – was served on plates that Harry had never seen before; Narcissa, seeing his evident discomfort, and guessing its cause, explained that this was the formal Black family dinner service, and that Kreacher obviously wanted to pull out all the stops as he now had two blood members of the Black family to entertain.

The witch's obvious good humour and natural charm went a long way towards making Harry feel comfortable in the room he didn't much like being in. Having the best china there made it feel like being the Dursleys'; he was terrified he'd break something or say the wrong thing, and that he would get shooed out at any minute for daring to be where he didn't belong. There was no rational basis for this, he knew, and with the two Malfoys there, he decided that this was his house, after all, and they seemed to be perfectly comfortable with his presence; so as pudding was served, he managed to relax and a smile of pure delight came on his face as he surveyed the jam roly-poly and custard in front of him. This treat, raspberry jam spread on a short pastry and rolled up, was one of the puddings he'd only had from Kreacher, and it was rapidly becoming one of his favourites.

Draco broke in on his thoughts. "That's good to see," he observed.

Harry looked up at him. He knew Draco had a sweet tooth, but it was still a strange remark. "You mean …" he said, waving at the pudding with a confused expression on his face.

"Well, that too," Draco agreed. "But I really meant the smile on your face. You've looked totally uncomfortable during the whole meal."

"Really?" Harry asked.

"Yes," Narcissa agreed. "I'm worried that my presence is _de trop_."

"(Too much)," Draco whispered helpfully, as he could see that Harry had no idea what _de trop_ meant.

"Oh," Harry said, abashed. "Um, no, it's just this room, and having this special china. It's so formal and stuffy, and it just reminds me of being in the Dursleys' dining room …" And the Harry realised what he had said, and knew, and hated, what was coming.

Narcissa fixed him with a stern look. "The Dursleys?" she asked. "Your aunt and uncle?"

"Yes, and cousin."

"And what was wrong with their dining room?"

Harry gulped. Being interrogated by Narcissa Malfoy was not high on his list of 'pleasant ways to spend an evening'. No, scratch that. It wasn't on the list at all. "Um, I wasn't supposed to go in there. Ever. it was full of Aunt Petunia's knick-knacks. I broke one once, and got locked in the cupboard for three days."

"Not go in the dining room?" Narcissa asked, puzzled. "Where did you eat?"

"In the kitchen. Or in my cupboard. But really, I think Draco's still in shock, we should look after him. What do you want to do?" Harry said, turning to his lover, hoping to at least buy some time with this blatant change of subject.

* * *

Of course Draco and Narcissa saw straight through it, but Draco, understanding why Harry was doing it, decided to help him. It wasn't hard; he was feeling emotionally drained from the afternoon. "I am feeling a bit out of things," he confessed; "do you mind if I go to bed?"

Half an hour later, Draco was in bed, and Narcissa had visited the Manor to gather the few things that she needed for the night. She came back with a bottle of port wine, and Lucius's thanks and best wishes. Harry had never had port before, and discovered that he liked it even more than the elf-wine.

"He's not mad at me for stealing you?" he asked, as they sat in the drawing room, drinking the port together.

Narcissa laughed again, and Harry found the sound enchanting. "Harry, he's absolutely delighted. When they heard why I'd gone, they all left soon after I did, apologising that they didn't want to intrude on a family emergency. Lucius said he felt my going had done far more good than feeding them could have. And I assure you he was as bored with their company as I was. No, he's much happier in his study drinking port than entertaining that lot; of course, he'd rather I was there too but he quite understands that Draco would want me here, so he's sent you this wine to say thank you."

Having said this, her face suddenly stopped smiling. "Now, Harry, I want you to explain to me just why you weren't allowed in the dining room, and what exactly you meant by your cupboard."

Harry gulped. Again. Being interrogated by Narcissa still wasn't on the list, and now he didn't have Draco. So he started to give her a summary of life with the Dursleys. He explained about the cupboard, and he could see her face narrowing in anger.

"You lived in a cupboard?" she said, her voice low and filled with venom, sounding uncannily like Draco's had earlier that afternoon. He nodded. "I see," she said, coldly. "Until when?"

"Until the letters came," he said softly, not quite knowing who Narcissa's obvious rage was against.

"Letters? The Hogwarts letter? They kept you in a cupboard until you were eleven?" she asked, her voice starting to show some of the fury building within her. With an effort, she regained her calm. "Then what?"

And so he told of the house on the rock, and Dudley's second bedroom, and being locked up, and bored, almost looking forward to doing chores again.

"Chores?" she asked. "What, like cleaning your room?"

Harry snorted. "Cleaning ... everything," and he explained the life of drudgery that was all he had known at the Dursleys'.

When he had finished, her eyes were like flint; and, despite his resolve, he was near tears.

"Salazar! I would not dare treat even a house-elf so badly! To do so to your own flesh and blood! Something must be done. Something **will** be done," she said quietly, looking away and talking more to herself than to him, and Harry felt a surge of fear. Narcissa Malfoy was a formidable opponent, and for perhaps the first time in his life he actually felt a little pity for his relatives. And then Narcissa looked back at him. "And as for you, Harry Potter –"

_Ulp_, Harry thought. But he discovered he had no reason to worry; she came over to him, sat beside him on the sofa, and enveloped him in a huge hug, her hands reaching around to caress his hair, stroking it soothingly.

He couldn't help it; the sheer onslaught of motherly love undid him completely, and he burst into tears. No words were spoken until ten minutes or so later, when he had finally stopped sobbing, and she had given him her handkerchief to dry his eyes with.

"Better?" she asked, cupping his face and turning it to her.

Harry smiled at the look of love in her eyes. "Much," he said softly.

Suddenly there was a tap – tap - tap on the window, and Harry got up and opened it. A large barn owl flew in, followed hard on the wings by a larger, black Ministry owl. Harry removed the messages tied to their legs while telling Pig, who was getting anxious with the strange, and much larger, owls there, not to be so silly. As soon as the messages had been removed, the owls flew away; clearly no replies were expected or required.

"See, you silly thing," Harry said to Pig as he shut the window. "No cause for alarm."

He sat down and opened the envelope from the Ministry. It was to tell him an appointment had been made at St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries for half-past nine the following morning, and would he please report to the fourth floor where he would be expected.

"What do you think this is about?" he asked Narcissa.

"Fourth floor is for spell damage … oh," said the blonde. "I see. That's clever. The Minister wants to make sure they can prove you're not under a curse or potion or anything."

"But I'm not," Harry said, puzzled.

"No, of course not." She refrained from explaining further; if Kingsley hadn't, perhaps Harry needed to work it out for himself. "Who is the second letter from?"

"It's from Blaise," he said, once he had opened the envelope and started reading the letter. "He's delighted to accept."

"Excellent!" said Narcissa, her eyes sparkling.

As he finished reading the letter, Harry smiled, remembering something else he had done this afternoon. "I got it," he said, which brought a smile to her face, too.

"I'm so glad," she said. "Do you want to give it to him on Friday?"

"If you really don't mind," he answered.

She smiled. "Of course not. He'll love it. And Saturday really is more convenient for us: Lucius is being called in to the Ministry more and more, it seems that they are actually beginning to value his input again. Molly and I have already started plotting. So, do you have a plan for where?"

He smiled. "Yes, I thought –"

"Don't tell me," she said. "Let it be a secret from everyone. Otherwise the surprise will be lost."

* * *

_Saturday, 30 May 1998_

"Oh – oh – ohhhh!"

Harry came awake very suddenly. For a brief moment, he missed the warm feeling of his lover's body entwined around him, until he realised exactly where he was and what he was doing. For Draco had obviously decided now was the time to repay the favour from two nights before.

"Merlin, that's the most wonderful wake-up call I've ever had! Thank you!" he said, giving thanks in his head that he had put up silencing charms the night before so that they wouldn't disturb Narcissa if he had nightmares. He might be growing in love for the Malfoys, but some things weren't meant to be shared.

Draco looked up. "Naturally," he said, with a trademark Malfoy smirk and complete lack of humility, as he made his way up the bed on hands and knees, and finally gripped Harry in a bearhug and kissed him all over his face.

"I'm guessing you're all better now?" Harry said, bemused at this unusual display of affection.

"Uh huh," Draco agreed. "And I love you so much. Thank you." Harry raised his eyebrow in surprise, and Draco continued, "the last few years have been hell. Having the Dark—having Voldemort installed as a permanent house-guest was terrifying. And then losing the war and being seen as Death Eater scum by the winning side and traitors by the losing side, that's pretty scary too. And then discovering we hadn't lost the Dark Lord so much as swapped from one Lordship to another. But Harry, you're amazing. It's because of you that anyone else is making an effort."

"Now that's not fair, Dray; McGonagall and Flitwick—"

"—would be civil, but I don't believe I'd be working at Hogwarts at all if you hadn't asked. And yes, they protected me, but it was you who got me there, you who got the Gryffindorks to accept me, patched up the Slytherins, and then called my mother over here last night when I needed her. So, thank you. I owe you everything, Harry."

Harry had gone bright red with embarrassment. "Um, OK, Um, your mum's still here; I asked her to stay the night, I thought you'd both want to see each other first thing … um, is that all right?"

As he had been talking, a strange expression had come over Draco's face, and Harry's confidence ebbed as he saw it. Was Draco upset about this? Did he think Harry was treating him like a kid who needed his mummy around?

"Harry, you are so goddamned amazing it hurts!" Draco burst out, hugging him even tighter than before. "OF COURSE it's all right! I have no idea what I ever did to deserve you! Now, let's get stirring. It's about seven o'clock, Bill's coming over at eight to deal with the traps at the front door, if you remember." Harry's face must have looked oblivious, because Draco then asked, "Did you remember? And did you tell mother?"

"Oops; no, and no," Harry confessed, still struggling with how much he was loved. If Draco wondered what he had done to deserve Harry, Harry's problem was more that he felt he didn't deserve anything. Having this gorgeous man in his bed every night was something he didn't think he'd ever get tired of.

* * *

It turned out that their concerns about Narcissa were unnecessary; she had slept soundly, heard nothing from their room, and was dressed and happily eating breakfast in the kitchen when they got there.

"Morning, Narcissa," Harry said as he entered the kitchen.

"Good morning, mother," Draco said, "you convinced Kreacher to let you eat in here today?"

Narcissa laughed. Harry wondered, to hear it, how he had ever thought her cold. She seemed to be happy and warm the whole time he was with her, now; though no doubt Draco's presence had something to do with that.

"Kreacher and I have had … a little chat," she said. Harry wondered what she might have said had she not pulled herself up, but let it slide. "I have explained to him that you find it hard, not being a Black by blood, to accept things that would be automatic for the family."

Harry looked stunned. "How did he take that?" he asked.

"Very well," Narcissa answered. "You must remember, Harry, that I was brought up with house-elves. I know how to get round them. We also chatted about the painting of Walberga – no, don't worry, he now entirely understands that she was upset while awake, and with you and your friends she would only be distressed the whole time. Being asleep is much the best thing for her."

At this point, Kreacher himself appeared with the Daily Prophet; he had been sent out by Narcissa to buy it. 'Master Harry! Master Draco!" he exclaimed, then muttered to himself, "Masters will be wanting breakfast I suppose. Poor Kreacher, always busy."

"Actually, Kreacher," Draco said, with a wink to Harry, "I think we might let Harry cook breakfast. He does it very well, I found out yesterday."

As Draco had obviously foreseen, this riled the poor elf no end. "Master Harry is not to be cooking and cleaning like a house-elf!" he spat. "Master Harry is to sit down and be served like a proper Master!"

Harry could hardly contain his laughter as he sat down. _What would Hermione say! _he thought, and was rather glad she wasn't there to witness things. Ten minutes later, he and Draco had enormous piles of pancakes in front of them, drowning in maple syrup; it was difficult to refrain from feeding each other, but with Narcissa present, they weren't going to, and Harry wondered if perhaps that was Kreacher's way of getting back at him; especially when he saw a rather evil smile on the elf's face. But he didn't say anything; the pancakes took all his attention once he started eating them.

"Delicious!" Draco said, eventually. "I think, Kreacher, we shall allow you to continue to make breakfast after all."

"Master Draco is being very funny," Kreacher said, in a voice that made it clear he wasn't particularly amused, as he made his way back to his little cubbyhole. "But Kreacher will show masters he knows how to be a good house-elf, even if they must be having their little joke."

* * *

They were still sitting at the table reading the paper, which, Harry noted with relief, said nothing about the previous afternoon's attack, when Bill Weasley arrived through the Floo. Narcissa looked him up and down: he was dressed in very Muggle clothing and with an ear-ring in his ear, he wasn't what she had expected at all. But she was a pure-blood; she knew full well that it was the contents, not the packaging, that mattered, and as a good house-guest she refrained from judgement or comment. Harry apparated with Bill to the doorstep and let him walk in and experience the traps for himself.

"I can see why you want to remove them," he said, after he'd walked in. "Mad-Eye set them up?"

"Yeah," said Harry. "Do you think you can take them down?"

Bill spent a few minutes doing some diagnostic spell work. It was immediately clear to Narcissa that he really was a professional; he worked his way through the complicated series of spells with obviously practised ease, before turning back to Harry. "Old Mad-Eye certainly knew what he was doing, but I think I can handle it. It's going take me most of the morning, I suspect..."

"That's fine," said Draco. "Harry's going to the Burrow to talk about the interview he's doing with Rita Skeeter this afternoon; but Mother and I will be here."

"Oh, I have to go to St Mungo's first, so I'll need to leave in about an hour. Are you sure you're happy to stay, Narcissa?" Harry asked, and the witch laughed again. Harry loved the sound.

"Of course, Harry. Lucius has meetings with the Aurors all this morning to discuss his parole and activities, and I would much rather spend time with Draco than rattling around by myself in the Manor. If, of course, that is agreeable to you?"

Harry assured her that he was delighted to have her whenever she wanted to come.

"But in the meantime you and I should probably discuss what you're going to say about us, if anything," Draco added.

"Ah," Narcissa added. "In that case I think I might pop back to the Manor for a few things."

* * *

Harry was somewhat agitated as he and Draco sat in the drawing room.

"So, going public," Draco said.

"Um, yeah. Um, I'm really sorry, Draco, I hadn't really thought about this at all."

"You know Skeeter will want to know, right?"

"Yeah," Harry agreed, "and I'm crap at keeping secrets, so we should decide what I'm to say."

Draco smirked. "I agree. So why not tell her the truth?"

Harry snorted, then thought for a moment. "You're OK with that? I mean, I can see that the Wizarding world needs to know that we're together, if only so you don't keep getting attacked."

"Yes, I'm OK. I have thought about this, Harry," and the '_even if you haven't' _was heard but not said. "Obviously not any details. But you should tell her about the Debt – which should be part of discussing the sentencing – and that it's drawn us together, and we've decided we want to stay that way. That we're in love."

A comfortable silence fell between them, broken only when Draco asked, "so, why are you going to St Mungo's?"

"Dunno." Harry said. "Kingley set up an appointment at the Spell Damage ward. Maybe it's about the Debts?"

Draco gave a patronising smile. "No, I think he'll probably want to get some sort of testing done."

"Testing?" Harry said, not following at all.

Draco laughed. "Potter, you really are endearingly clueless sometimes. Yes, testing. People aren't going to believe this isn't a love potion or an Imperius or something along those lines. You know it isn't, and so do I, but the point is that everyone will think so; so if you can prove you're not, from the very beginning, it will pull the flying carpet out from underneath Ali Baba."

Harry laughed at how similar this saying was to the Muggle version.

Narcissa got back just as Harry had to leave.

"OK guys, I need to get to St Mungo's. Narcissa, please make yourself at home – Draco already is. And if you both want to go back to the Manor, that would be fine too," he reassured Draco. "I think we can consider Narcissa someone we both trust," he continued, recalling their conversation of the previous morning, with a broad grin on his face.

Draco's face lit up. "Oh, I think so," he replied. Narcissa looked a little mystified, but she could see that this was some private joke, and didn't seem to be at her expense, so she merely smiled. She would get the details out of Draco later, when they were alone.

* * *

It was just over an hour later that Harry arrived at the Burrow.

"Harry!" Molly exclaimed as he all but fell out of the Floo. "You're early! How wonderful! Arthur's busy in the garage. You sit down here and we'll have a nice cup of tea and a natter. But you look a bit fed up?"

Harry explained about the appointment at St Mungo's that had been wished on him, and how the Healer seemed to be determined to fire every diagnostic spell there was at him.

"It was bad enough Scrimgeour wanting me to be the Ministry pin-up boy without being the new target for all healing spells!" he grumbled.

Molly smiled indulgently. She knew perfectly well he just wanted to vent, and was happy to let him do so for ten minutes, after which she gently pointed out that at least Skeeter couldn't print anything about being cursed now, and leading the conversation on. As they talked, she steered him away from the trial and the interview altogether, but was very interested to hear all about the rebuilding of Hogwarts. She pressed him for details about the new tower, but he explained that it was Flitwick's secret and so Harry didn't want to tell anyone.

"Hmph!" Molly said. "I never thought that man would be so secretive!"

"Yes, who would have thought he'd had this plan for so long?"

"Hello Harry!" Arthur said as he came into the kitchen. "Who's had what plan?"

Harry explained about Flitwick and the tower, and Arthur simply observed, "good for him!"

* * *

Arthur and Harry were sitting in Arthur's new home office, a wizard space that had been created inside his garage full of Muggle gear. They had spent the last hour discussing exactly how Harry was going to handle his interview with Rita Skeeter. And the more they discussed, the more nervous Harry became as he realised just exactly what he had let himself in for. Even though he and Draco had agreed to tell all, it became a whole lot more scary when Arthur started drilling Harry by asking the sort of questions he knew Skeeter would ask.

The questioning about the Potter Code was bad enough. They did discuss that at length, and Arthur agreed that Harry's explanation of the difference between the Malfoys and the odious Umbridge was pretty water-tight. No, the real problem was that the Ministry had had the Prophet on a very short leash ever since the horrid story that they had printed about the Malfoys; and Arthur was sure that Skeeter would push the boundaries as far as Harry would let her. Which meant he had to be prepared for questioning about the exact nature of his relationship with Draco Malfoy. And the practise questions Arthur threw at him did get pretty exact.

By the time Molly called them for lunch, Harry's face had gone beetroot red three times and was in imminent danger of a fourth time. While there was the inevitable huge, and wonderful, meal, Harry found he had hardly any appetite. By half-past one, he had bats fluttering in his stomach, as wizards say; the cup of tea Molly forced on him helped, but not much.

At last he couldn't put it off any longer; Arthur Flooed with him to his office, to meet up with the Auror who would take him to the Interview Room that the Ministry had provided for the interview.

And so, at two o'clock, Harry once more caught sight of the woman he would have given a lot to never see again, as the sharp, over-dressed, over-made-up form of Rita Skeeter rose to meet him.

"Mr Potter," she said, "what a pleasure!"

* * *

_**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **Grateful thanks as always to Bicky Monster for all their help._

___You can also find this story on archiveofourown dot org._

_Did you enjoy Narcissa at Grimmauld Place? I thought it would be good to have her out of the Manor for a change.  
_

_Thanks to all who are following and favoriting! Gives me a lovely warm feeling that you're interested. And double thanks to those who review - Jammie Dodgers to you all!  
_

_Seriously, reviews are much appreciated. _

_Replies: I do reply individually, but I also feel you should be acknowledged (and maybe other people want to know my answers to your questions too!). Please do log in to comment, I enjoy responding individually.  
_

**_helen: _**_Thanks! The trials scenes are ... I have to say it ... trying... But I'm glad you enjoyed it!_

**_mizzrazz72: _**_The war certainly did cause a lot of problems, but I think we're seeing some attempts to fix them ..._

**_HarryPottersGirl2010: _**_So good to know! There's quite a bit of life left in it I suspect._

_**MirrorFlower and DarkWind: **__So very kind. _

**_KillJoy7772: _**_Moving into the towers will take a while, there are a couple of big events to happen first._

**_IamACritic: _**_Hope this was soon enough! _

**_sara_**: _Thanks!_


	28. The Return of Rita Skeeter

**28 The Return of Rita Skeeter**

_**Last time:**_

_At last he couldn't put it off any longer; Arthur Flooed with him to his office, to meet up with the Auror who would take him to the Interview Room that the Ministry had provided for the interview._

_And so, at two o'clock, Harry once more caught sight of the woman he would have given a lot to never see again, as the sharp, over-dressed, over-made-up form of Rita Skeeter rose to meet him._

"_Mr Potter," she said, "what a pleasure!"_

* * *

The room the Ministry had provided for them was light, airy and well-furnished. There was a simple conference table, and comfortable chairs. In the corners were pot-plants, giving off delicious smells. And best of all, the Auror who had been deputed to guard him today was Robin Banks. Harry had been overjoyed when he found out that Robin had no intention of leaving him alone during the interview.

All in all, if only the room had not contained Rita Skeeter, Harry thought, this would be a very pleasant experience indeed. He forced himself to look at her; and, which was much more effort, to smile convincingly. "Hello, Ms Skeeter," he said.

"Oh Harry, please, call me Rita," she said, with a slight giggle which he found slightly less irritating than the squeak of a nail being rubbed up a blackboard, if only because it didn't last as long. "Now, Harry, you won't mind me using my Quick Quotes Quill of course?"

Harry was about to accept this, but Robin gave a discreet cough. "It is a condition of this interview that it not be used," he said.

"Oh, but I'm sure you won't mind, will you Harry?" she pouted at him.

"Actually," said Harry, already sick of being told what he did or didn't think in the first minute of the interview, "I think we'd better not have it, if the Ministry has said no; you wouldn't want it thought that you were trying to do something underhanded, after all."

Harry was quite sure that Rita didn't care at all; but he knew perfectly well that she couldn't say so with the Auror present. Robin was proving to be a real blessing.

Rita was obviously grumpy at not being allowed her Quick Quotes Quill; she had indeed hoped to bully Harry into using it. She tried hard not to let her irritation show, taking out a notepad and ordinary quill and continuing in a bright voice that reminded Harry forcefully of Umbridge. "Harry, during the trials we've all been hearing about this reform of our laws called the Potter Code and I'm sure my readers are dying to know what it's all about; so Me, Myself and I have taken it upon ourselves to find out everything about it."

"How very public-spirited of you," Harry replied. Rita completely missed the sarcasm, but Robin obviously didn't, giving Harry a broad grin in agreement. "The Potter Code is a rather posh name for something very simple. And it's about a lot more than just legal reform. You see," he continued, taking care to speak slowly so she could take notes, which was useful as he could frame his thoughts much more coherently, "we've just been through a second war caused by Voldemort and I'm sure we all don't want anything like that ever again. So the Wizengamot wants to make sure that we don't just sling all the Death Eaters in Azkaban and continue as before, because that won't deal with the real causes of the war."

"And what do you think those causes were?" Skeeter asked. "Surely it was just Voldemort? And he's gone, so there's no problem, surely?"

"I don't buy that," Harry replied. "Firstly, what's to stop another Voldemort coming along? We need to investigate what caused his rise and put in place measures to stop that happening again. We know he was in fact a half-blood called Tom Riddle; he had a Muggle father and a pure-blood mother –"

This was news to both Skeeter and Robin by the looks on their faces; he could tell Skeeter had a thousand questions, but he pressed on so she didn't have time to ask any, "—and his father left his mother, who died soon afterwards and he was placed in a orphanage. So there are lots of questions we need to ask about how we can help children in this situation, particularly where Muggle relations who are not sympathetic are involved. As you can imagine, I have been asked because I too have been in that situation. We don't yet know what all the issues are, or what steps will be taken, but I'm sure that the Wizengamot will be actively thinking about it over the next few months."

"That raises a lot of questions about Voldemort," Skeeter began, but Harry cut her off neatly:

"Yes, but perhaps we'd better leave them for another time. Because, secondly, it's absurd to say that Voldemort is the only problem. He would not have got anywhere if he had not been able to bring people to his side, people who were not happy with the Ministry, who had a grievance of some sort, or were persecuted or marginalized. There are obvious things to look at here – the legislation introduced by Dolores Umbridge, for example, laws which persecuted werewolves and then later on the Muggleborn Registration Act and inquisition. Of course, these laws can be repealed, but we need to do more. As a society, we need to ask how we can ensure that people are free to live their lives. With laws in place for protection of course, but not to control people. We have to, as Remus Lupin put it, 'make a world in which we can live happier lives'."

Skeeter looked at him askance. Was this the same boy she had interviewed before? He had always been tongue-tied and angry; a far cry from the confident, easy-speaking man in front of her.

"You seem to have given this a lot of thought," she said. "Can you sum up how we're going to make such a world?"

"I have, and I've had a lot of help," Harry replied. "The Potter Code begins with treating people with respect. Accepting that we all have to live on the same planet: wizards, witches, goblins, house-elves, giants, werewolves, centaurs, merpeople, all magical creatures, even Muggles. We're all here, none of these groups is going away, and we have to work out how to live together peaceably. For us and Muggles, we've decided to keep them oblivious of the magical world, apart from contact between the Minister for Magic and the Muggle Prime Minister; I'm sure that position will be reviewed, in consultation with international wizarding groups of course, to make sure we all agree it's the best course. But we need to set up relations with all the other magical groups, and look at what legal rights and structures are really appropriate so we can live together in peace."

"I imagine your friend Miss Granger will be interested in that – didn't she have something about house-elves?"

Harry reddened a little at the thought of how vocal Hermione had been about her Society for the Promotion of Elvish Welfare but decided not to mention it by name; the last thing they needed was anyone making snide jokes about 'SPEW', after all. "Yes, I'm sure she will be interested," he said. "At present, she and Ron are travelling, but when she gets back I imagine she'll make her views known."

Rita Skeeter was making notes feverishly, and now here was a problem for her: she knew she had to hear more about the Potter Code, but her readers would want to know just where Hermione was, and what her relationship with Ron was; Skeeter was nothing if not a skilled gossip-hound and that would make a lovely personal touch to what she was already afraid would be a very dry article indeed. She made a small note to herself to follow this up later, and invited Harry to continue.

"I've talked about witches and wizards as though we were all one group," Harry continued, "but it's very clear from the war that we have to deal with the frictions within the Wizarding world itself. We have muggle-borns, and half-bloods, and full-bloods; we have derogatory terms like 'mudblood' and 'blood traitor'. We have to move beyond seeing people in this way. We see it at Hogwarts: the four Houses were made to provide support but have become stereotypes: for example ,Gryffindors are supposed to be courageous to the point of recklessness and Ravenclaws are incredibly studious and clever. But the Gryffindor Hermione Granger is one of the cleverest witches I have ever met, while the Ravenclaw Luna Lovegood has more courage than half the Gryffindors I know. It's just silly to think that we can define people by their blood status, or their House, or anything else really. We have to let everyone be themselves, without prejudice. Because there's no doubt that Voldemort exploited the blood prejudices; even though he was a half-blood himself, he didn't let the pure-bloods know it, and got them rallying around him because they saw prejudice against them from the Ministry; and, to be fair, were themselves prejudiced, or words like 'blood-traitor' would not exist."

"So, does the Potter Code simply boil down to saying, 'let's all be nice to one another'?" Rita asked, her voice skeptical.

"There's certainly an idea like that involved," Harry replied, smiling. "But it's not simple. After all, imagine if we **were** all nice to one another. Wouldn't that be a world in which we can live happier lives?"

"But you're right to doubt that that is possible. We're going to try; but we have a lot to reform. I want to see our trial process reformed so that there is a commitment to fairness, to finding out the truth, rather than to being politically expedient. The Minister has already said he agrees with this; that's why he has not presided over any trial, and only rarely been present at them himself. He wants the courts, the Wizengamot and any other bodies it sets up, to be headed by the Chief Wizard, without Ministry interference. This commitment to the truth, to fairness and justice, extends to the decision made to use the _Expositor Falsitas _potion on everyone present at the trial, not just the accused. It extends to the idea that just being a Death Eater can't be a crime; we have to prove that people actually broke laws, hurt people, did evil things; to judge them for membership of a group is to go right back into the world of prejudice again."

"Do you really think that?" Skeeter asked, still sounding skeptical. "Do you really think, for example, that the Malfoys should have got off?"

"Whether anyone should get off is really a matter for the Wizengamot, not for me. But I do think the Malfoys are rather a special case. As I said at Umbridge's trial, they did what they did because of the threat to their family. That may not always have been true for Lucius; I can't speak for what happened before Voldemort's return. But certainly afterwards, Voldemort was in their house, they lived in fear of death, and he held them hostage, each forced to do his bidding lest he kill the other two. And a big part of the Code is the idea, from Albus Dumbledore, that we need to look for the good in everyone. To seek to give people a second chance. The Malfoys, I'm sure, will be an important part of rebuilding our society; they know that they stuffed up, they know they've been given a chance, and I believe they are determined to show they deserve it. Lucius has already started working with the Ministry, and I understand that he's been hosting talks which are helping the Ministry deal with the huge upheaval created by the war."

"So why not give Dolores Umbridge a second chance?" Skeeter asked.

"Because she showed clearly that she had no interest in working with this process. She just wanted to go on doing her own thing. She didn't deserve a second chance because to get a second chance, you really have to accept that you need it. That you've stuffed up. I don't believe Umbridge accepted that; more importantly, the Wizengamot didn't believe it either."

"Believe that she'd, um, stuffed up?" Rita asked, confused, and hesitating over Harry's colloquialism.

"No; they didn't believe she accepted that she had stuffed up and so needed a second chance," Harry clarified.

"So," Rita said, a new tone sounding in her voice: Harry could tell she was beginning to be impressed at how well thought out this all was. "So, where does Harry Potter fit in? Why is it called the 'Potter Code'?"

Harry laughed. "Good question," he said. "Certainly, some of the ideas are mine; but at the end of the day, I'm really just an ordinary wizard—" Rita snorted at this, while Robin obviously wanted to, but managed to hold his snort in – "really, I am. I don't want to tell the Ministry or the Wizengamot what to do, and they may listen to me but they are under no obligation to do what I say. As a society we all need to work together to rebuild what we had, and to make it better. If I can help in that process, I'm honoured to be asked to. If calling it the 'Potter Code' gives it an identity and helps to make it a coherent approach, I guess I'll put up with it."

"Am I hearing that you're not entirely happy with the name, then?" Skeeter asked.

"I've never really wanted publicity," Harry answered. "I just seem to attract it. If I can use that to achieve the reforms that I see are needed, like I said, I'll put up with it; it's a price I'm happy to pay if it helps Remus's vision to be achieved."

"So, will you be working on the details?"

"Not in the immediate future; I intend to return to Hogwarts to finish my education," Harry replied, spotting an opportunity to make another point that was important to him. "As you can understand, the last year of my schooling was non-existent, and for most of my cohort, that is, my fellow students, it wasn't much better. I don't see why I should expect to go into the Wizarding world and get preferential treatment without passing my NEWTs; and I certainly hope that all of my year feels the same."

"Thank you, Harry, that's very informative; I think we have the makings of a major piece in tomorrow's Prophet. Luckily, it's the Sunday edition, so the editor will be overjoyed to have a more in-depth article," she said, and Harry was surprised by the sheer quantity of notes the woman had taken. "Now there are a couple of personal questions I'd like to ask. Firstly, you mentioned that Miss Granger was travelling?"

"Oh yes," Harry said, wondering how much to tell. But there was nothing secret about their trip, as far as he knew; so he decided to give just enough detail to make a good story for Skeeter. "Hermione and Ron have gone to Australia to retrieve her parents. She sent them out there to keep them safe in case Voldemort tried to get to her through them; and now that that danger has passed, she's taken the opportunity to fly to Australia to get them back. She and Ron have decided to use the Muggle aeroplanes; you can understand that, being the Deputy Minister's son, he shares Arthur's love of Muggle artefacts, so was really excited at the prospect." (Harry had put these details in to draw Rita off further questions about the Grangers. He didn't want to let on that Hermione had performed a memory charm on them; that wasn't the sort of thing that he felt should be public knowledge. Ron's love of Muggle things would, he hoped, be seen as a harmless and endearing eccentricity.) "She and Ron will be returning, hopefully with her parents, in time for the new term at Hogwarts."

"And is the rumour I hear true? That they are not just friends?"

Harry thought for a second; but Arthur has reassured him that the engagements were not secrets. "Yes, they had their engagement party the night before they left. As did George Weasley, to Neville Longbottom. I'm sure your readers will want to congratulate the Weasleys, the Grangers and Augusta Longbottom on these happy events."

"I'm sure they will. And what about you, Harry? Is there a witch in the offing for you? Is another Weasley going to announce her engagement?"

Harry took a deep breath. He had known he'd have to say something about this; but knowing about it and doing it were two separate things. And then his resolve firmed again: he didn't want his love life to be public property, but it wasn't a guilty secret, either.

"I do have a special someone," he replied, "but it's not Ginny Weasley, no. At the moment, we've moved from being friends to – well, we didn't like 'boyfriends', so we're lovers."

"Oooh," Rita squealed. "And who is the lucky wizard?"

"Me," Harry said with a straight face.

"All right," Rita laughed, "who's the **other** lucky wizard?"

"Oh I see. Yes, of course. My lover is Draco Malfoy. And, before you ask," Harry continued, cutting off the protest he could see on Skeeter's lips, "it's got nothing to do with his trial, and it's not a love potion or an Imperius curse, or anything of that nature."

"Can you prove that?" she asked. This was big news; but she knew that if Harry could prove it, anything her paper printed speculating otherwise would get them in very hot water with the Ministry.

"Yes, I can," he replied, embarking on a little speech he had carefully prepared to be absolutely truthful while leaving out any real information. "I had some tests done at St Mungo's this morning. Before I show you the results, and I will give you a copy, I have to tell you about something that comes up in them. Something that happened on the day of the Battle of Hogwarts. Something that really further exonerates the Malfoys. You see, Voldemort had cursed them so that if he died, they would die soon after. I found out about this when I gave Draco his wand back, and he told me about the curse. So I did some magic – I don't really remember what, it wasn't a spell as such, just some words that burned their way into my mind – and it set both Draco and Lucius free from the curse. But it created a Debt that they owe me; and that shows up in the scans from St Mungo's. But of course, that isn't them manipulating me; if anything, it lets me manipulate them."

Rita's mind was reeling at the thought of the Saviour, Harry Potter, getting together with his one-time arch-rival; but at that moment, only two questions came to her. "How does that exonerate them?"

"It shows that Voldemort didn't trust them. So the people who painted Lucius as his totally trusted right-hand man weren't quite right."

"And what were the words?"

"Do you know, you're the first person who's asked that. Um, actually, they are part of the Potter Code too, I guess. They make up values that I think should drive us as we rebuild our world. The words were 'Life', 'Wholeness', 'Connection', and 'Belonging'."

At this point, there came a knock on the door. Robin Banks stood up. "Forgive me, ma'am, but your time is up," he said. He opened the door, and the Minister, Elphias Doge, and a _Daily Prophet _photographer came in.

"I know this wasn't part of the offer," Kingsley said, "but Elphias thought you might like a photograph of the three of us."

Rita was overjoyed; and they spent a few minutes arranging the shot. Eventually it was taken, and Kingsley said, "as agreed, we expect a transcript to be delivered by six o'clock, and that will have to be approved for publication."

Rita desperately wanted more details about Harry and Draco, bu tno protest from her would convince the Minister to allow the interview to continue. Well, she thought, she could probably spin this to the editor as two separate stories, a long and boring article about the Potter Code in tomorrow's paper, she'd get Susan to write most of that; and a much more interesting one on Monday about the love-lives. She might even be able to dig up some more dirt tomorrow. She could interview that Italian chap, she decided; he'd know something for sure.

* * *

Kingsley returned with Harry to Arthur's office, where Harry was overjoyed to find Narcissa and Draco there, having tea with the Deputy Minister. Kingsley excused himself and returned to his office; Harry sat next to his lover, who placed his arm around him and gave him a seated hug. It was awkward, but Harry was very grateful for this open display of affection and support; and for the fact that the two adults made no comment but simply smiled, as Arthur poured tea for Harry and levitated the cup over to him.

"So, Draco, Narcissa," Harry said immediately, trying to forestall the inevitable questions about the interview, "what did you two get up to today?"

Narcissa's small smile made it quite clear to Harry that she knew what he was up to; but she answered happily enough, "oh, we had a little chat about how things are going at Grimmauld Place. Draco walked me through all the repairs and I must say, Harry, I'm very impressed with your spell work; another couple of weeks of work and you won't know the place."

"Thank you," said Harry, grateful for the warmth that came to him from Narcissa. "But that didn't take the whole day, surely?"

"No," Draco added, "we went to the Manor - as you'd said I might", he added, largely for Arthur's benefit; he still wasn't quite comfortable with exactly what he had to do to stay within the guidelines of his probation, and didn't want any questions asked, "- and had lunch with father."

"And Blaise," Narcissa added.

"I didn't think we were telling him about that," Draco hissed.

"I'm sure Harry wants to know that you are getting on with your friends again," she replied equably.

"I certainly do," Harry replied. "I can't be your only friend, Draco, that would be too horrid for you when we go back to Hogwarts. But what weren't you telling me about?"

"Oh, Draco has a little surprise to show you when you come to lunch tomorrow," Narcissa said, vaguely.

Draco himself decided this was actually working rather well – he had wanted to say nothing, but this little hint had obviously piqued Harry's curiosity, so why not milk it for all it was worth? "Blaise helped too, of course; perhaps we could invite him to lunch as well?"

"What a splendid idea," Narcissa agreed. "But Harry, you're very naughty, keeping us from asking how the interview went."

"Horrid," was his immediate reply, he still had no love for reporters in general and Rita in particular.

"I understand," Arthur said, "and we're grateful to you for doing it. I'm sorry we sort of pushed you into it but I'm sure you'll all be interested to know that we have investigated Mr Nott's case, and found there is some evidence of the same kind of activity we observed with Crockford and Thicknesse. So it's possible he was under the Imperius curse, and still influenced by it at his trial, which would explain his not pleading it then; and we never found it before. That 'Signum Revelare' spell you used yesterday has been adapted slightly by our healers, and seems to be very helpful in discovering this deeply hidden Imperius."

"So what will happen with Theo?" Draco asked. Harry was glad to hear the concern in his voice; Draco and Theo had been friends for a long time, he only hoped that the other Slytherin would be cleared of all charges and the friendship could be re-established.

"The Wizengamot has already agreed that if he was under Imperio then his conviction will be quashed and no further action taken," Arthur replied. "We'll know for certain by Friday at the latest. Also, you'd probably like to know that the healers got to him in time to reattach the arm; Harry gave them some interesting insights from Professor Snape's copy of _Advanced Potion Making_. Apparently Snape had added detailed counter-curse instructions underneath the curse and St Mungo's was able to recover about eighty per cent use of the arm."

Draco looked stunned. "They did that? For someone who had apparently attacked Harry and brought the curse on himself?"

"Of course," Arthur said. "It's what they do. The healers told me, they don't make judgements; that's up to the Wizengamot. They just do the best they can by every patient."

Draco now turned to Harry. "And you did that? I know that Snape had a counter-curse; he used it on me, he even taught it to me in case the spell popped up again; but you let them know? Even for someone who attacked you?"

"Yeah," said Harry. "I guess I just have this thing about saving people. Even if they attacked me. Or even," he said with a sly grin, "if they're Death Eaters who don't have magic any more."

Draco did the most undignified thing Harry had ever seen him do: he poked out his tongue. But he then clasped his lover tightly.

"I guess you just do. Don't ever stop."

* * *

Draco and Harry got back to Grimmauld Place at four o'clock, Narcissa having returned to the Manor from Arthur's office. Draco decided that Harry looked exhausted, so suggested they have a nap for an hour. As they lay together on the bed, he finally asked about the interview; he had noticed Harry had got away with saying just a single word about it, but he could tell there was more Harry wanted – no, needed – to get out.

"So was the interview really that bad?" he asked, softly.

Harry turned and looked at him. "Actually, I think the real problem for me was that it was Skeeter."

"I can understand that," Draco said, remembering all the tripe she had printed about him over the years – some of it, to Draco's chagrin, having come from him.

"Yeah, well, once I sort of managed to block that out, I answered her questions, and told her far more than she wanted to know about the Potter Code – those notes were wonderfully helpful."

Affecting nonchalance, Draco asked the question that was really bothering him: "and did you tell her about us?"

Harry looked at him lovingly, and Draco knew at once that Harry wasn't fooled by his pretence. "I told her I had a lover, and that it was you. I had to tell her about the Debt because it showed up on the scans from St Mungo's, but I didn't say anything about your magic. I told her you were cursed so you'd die."

"Clever," said Draco. "You told her the truth, of course, we know we would have died without our magic; but you haven't let anyone know that was the reason, so they'll think it was an ordinary 'dead-in-a-month' sort of spell."

"That's the idea," Harry said, pleased that Draco had realised so quickly what Harry had been trying to do. "And she didn't get to ask any more about us because we ran out of time. I did tell her about Ron and Hermione being engaged, and in Australia; and also about Neville and George. So hopefully it'll come out as a big article about all of us, and take some of the heat off the two of us."

Privately, Draco thought this was a little naïve on Harry's part, but he decided he didn't want to say so. "Well done, love," he said, hugging his lover, "now, let's have that nap."

They rested until five o'clock, when Kreacher came to rouse them to say that the 'blood-traitor Mistress Molly Weasley' had Floo-called to remind them to be at dinner at six.

"Thank you Kreacher," Draco drawled. "And please do not ever call her a 'blood-traitor' again. We can do without those terms now that the war is over."

Kreacher went off, grumbling and muttering to himself about young masters who defied the old ways and the sorts of sticky ends they might come to; which Draco just laughed off. When Harry looked concerned, he simply said, "Kreacher's hiss is worse than his bite. Now, you and I had better get ready for dinner."

* * *

When they got to the Burrow, Arthur took them aside and told them that the Ministry had received the interview transcript for approval, as arranged, and Skeeter had done a fair job. He didn't think they had anything to worry about. Harry was very grateful to be told this; it took quite a weight off his mind.

Dinner was a very happy affair. Charlie couldn't be there because he was on dragon watch; but Bill and Fleur came, and Percy, and the twins; and Ginny, of course, who was the only Weasley child living at the Burrow at the moment. Fleur grabbed Draco the moment she arrived, and the two of them sat in a corner conversing in fluent and voluble French. When everyone had arrived, and they were circulating a bit more waiting for dinner to be ready, Harry asked him what they had been talking about. Draco smiled and explained that Fleur had told him all about her cousins and how taken they had been to meet him; it turned out he had plenty of offers to stay in various places in France, including two very nice addresses in Paris; the cousins couldn't wait to show off such an accomplished noble-born wizard to their friends. Draco had asked Fleur about bringing Harry too; and apparently they were just as taken by the Famous Harry Potter, so that would be lovely.

Harry groaned. He didn't want to be the Famous Harry Potter; he'd had enough of that. But Draco wickedly pointed out to him that if he would give newspaper interviews he couldn't really complain about being famous. Harry, having no suitable rejoinder, simply hit Draco on the shoulder and said "twat".

"The quality of your repartee astonishes me, Potter," the blond said with a twinkle in his eye. "Truly you have an amazing grasp of invective."

"Why are we not surprised to learn / that our Harry has an amazing grasp?" the twins asked, at which Harry flushed brick-red.

"George and Fred!" Molly scolded. "Just what have you said to poor Harry to make him blush like that? On second thoughts," she said, as they opened their mouths to answer, "I suspect I don't want to know. Come on everybody, it's time to sit down and eat."

* * *

After dinner they went out into the garden to enjoy the evening sunshine and relax. At least, they were supposed to relax; but Harry and Draco didn't smell the rats quite quick enough. The twins had gently manoevred them onto just those two specific chairs …

There was a loud BANG! And Draco and Harry found themselves inside Bouncing Balloon Chairs. But these were slightly amended, Harry noticed; they were fairly transparent, he could make out the anger on Draco's face; and there seemed to be poles inside, that manipulated arms attached to the air-bag cushioning that enveloped them. Fred and George, once they recovered from the hysterical laughter they went into at the sounds Harry and Draco made, put a Beefy Bouncy Beating Baton in each hand.

"WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?" Draco yelled, which only made the twins laugh even louder.

"Calm down, brother's lover!" they said. "It's a competition!"

"A competition?" Draco repeated, his anger disappearing and a sly look coming onto his face.

"Yep. So, here's the idea: / because of the balloon chairs, you can't hurt each other. / The idea is to see who can hit the other one to the ground first."

Harry was a bit worried that Draco would be mortified at this idea. He should have known better. He should really have been worrying about how good the blond was at being devious. It took only five minutes for Harry to lose the first round of the impromptu tournament. Of course, everyone else wanted a go; the twins produced a couple more sets of balloons and batons, and everyone fought it out in knock-out rounds. Even Fleur and Molly joined in, happily shrieking in delight even when they lost almost immediately to Ginny and Bill respectively.

In the end, it was between George and Draco, Ginny having just managed to beat Fred before George had defeated his feisty sister in one minute flat. The last pair were very evenly matched: it took nearly fifteen minutes before Draco finally managed to knock George to the ground and emerge as the winner of the First Annual Weasley Bouncy Beating Challenge. The twins immediately grabbed Draco, hoisted him onto their shoulders, and chaired him for a victory lap around the garden while everyone else collapsed in helpless laughter.

* * *

He should have known, really. Yes, dinner had been wonderfully relaxed, and the smile on Draco's face after winning, and especially after being so warmly congratulated, was priceless. But still, after the stress of the interview, after seeing Rita again, he should have known.

The dark cloud rose up again, but this time it was a swarm of beetles, each one with Rita's face coming out of it, yelling at him_, _"How do you think your parents would feel about you saving a convicted murderer? Entering the Triwizard Tournament? Standing up for Death-Eater scum? Proud? Concerned that your attitude shows a pathological need for attention? Is that it, Harry? You want attention? Or is it a psychotic death wish?"

_No, _he wanted to yell. But he couldn't speak, it was like when Vernon yelled at him, he just couldn't make any sound at all …

It changed in an instant. There was the red light again, and this time bands of silver started to weave through it and the darkness receded and grew smaller, smaller, until the red light snuffed it out, while the silver bands encircled him and he woke to find Draco Malfoy holding him, staring at him with frightened eyes.

* * *

_**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **Grateful thanks as always to Bicky Monster for all their help._

___You can also find this story on archiveofourown dot org._

_I hope the interview wasn't stodgy! And that you enjoyed my tournament! All ideas for further Weasley pranks would be welcome. The next one may be a while coming. Just saying.  
_

_Thanks to all who are following and favoriting! Gives me a lovely warm feeling that you're interested. And double thanks with treacle tart and clotted cream to those who review.  
_

_Seriously, reviews are much appreciated. _

_****__Replies: __I do reply individually, but I also feel you should be acknowledged (and maybe other people want to know my answers to your questions too!). Please do log in to comment, I enjoy responding individually._

_****__sara: __Thanks! Now you know!__  
_**_  
IamACritic: _**_Glad you're enjoying it. As for kinky, that's very kind, but what about the story? :^)_

HarryPottersGirl2010 :

___ If you thought that was a cliff hanger, how about this? __As for twisting Harry's words, we'll have to wait a chapter or two._

KillJoy7772:

___Delighted to have improved your day. What are you wondering about Narcissa and Draco? Hmm? Just what have they got up to with Blaise?_

MirrorFlower and DarkWind:

___So kind, as ever._

AcadianProud:

___Thank you! As for what Narcissa has planned for the Dursleys, it looks like a race for who will get there first I think ..._


	29. Turn and Turn About

**29 Turn and Turn About**

_Last time:  
_

_There was the red light again, and this time bands of silver started to weave through it and the darkness receded and grew smaller, smaller, until the red light snuffed it out, while the silver bands encircled him and he woke to find Draco Malfoy holding him, staring at him with frightened eyes._

* * *

Draco looked at Harry's face and nearly lost it completely. If he was frightened, the other boy was terrified. All of the colour had drained out of Harry's face, he was sweating and shaking, and, now that he was coming awake, mumbling incoherently. Which was definitely an improvement on the inarticulate shouting he had been doing before he started to wake up, but still not anywhere near good.

The green eyes flitted open, and for a moment there was no light of recognition in them; but then they came into focus as Harry realised where he was and what must have happened.

"Draco? I …" he said. Draco could hear the guilt in Harry's voice; they really had to get him past this. If he had nightmares, they would deal with them. Guilt only made things harder.

But right now was not the time. "Shhhhhh," Draco murmured, and as if the sound had a magic of its own, Harry calmed in his arms and fell into a deep sleep. His breathing suddenly changed from the ragged spluttering breaths of a moment before to move into a gentle rhythm, and Draco could feel the heartbeat coming back down to a normal range.

He felt his own body relax as the peace now radiating from his lover started to calm him, and soon they were both fast asleep, clasped in each other's arms.

* * *

_Sunday, 31 May 1998_

After the stress of the interview and Harry's nightmare waking them in the middle of the night, it was not surprising that they slept on until nearly nine o'clock.

Harry shuddered as he came awake, and he found those strong arms around him again. He felt warm and comforted.

"Hey," Draco said, and there was no mistaking the warmth and love in the voice.

"Thank you," Harry whispered.

"Of course," Draco said softly in reply. "Are you all right now?"

"Yes. I'm sorry."

"Harry, you had a nightmare. It's OK, I know you can't help them; and I feel honoured if I can help you through them. So, no more feeling guilty, all right?"

"I'll try," Harry said with a shy smile that melted Draco's heart.

"Was it Skeeter?"

"Yes," Harry said. But he didn't want to discuss it any further, so he buried his face in Draco's neck, still shuddering; and the blond must have understood, because he just held him, rubbing his back, letting him take his time.

Eventually, when Harry had calmed down and relaxed, Draco spoke.

"Harry?"

"Yes?"

"Um, your nightmare; was it like beetles attacking you? And then that red light?"

Harry pulled away slightly from Draco's grip so that he could look him in the face. "How did you know?" he asked; although, as he thought about it, there really was only one way he could know; and Draco confirmed his thoughts.

"Because I dreamt it too …"

"What? What did you hear?" Harry asked sharply, and Draco knew immediately that Harry must have heard things he would die rather than admit to. No doubt he had relived something hateful that Skeeter had said to him long ago. Thinking over the nightmares when the Dark Lord had been in the Manor, Draco could understand that completely.

"I didn't hear anything, I just saw the beetles, Harry. And then there was this red light that flowed around me, and I knew that I had to reach out to you, so I did. And then I woke up, and you were yelling, but I couldn't understand a word you said; and then you woke up, and you were so frightened and I didn't really know what to do, but …"

Harry's face fell during this speech, and a terrible fear gripped him as all the fears inculcated by the Dursleys leapt into life again: that even now, Draco might leave him. He was so broken, so hurt; why should anyone love him? Why would this gorgeous man give up hope of living a normal life to help a freak like him?

"I'm so sorry. Draco, please, stay, I'll try to be better …"

"Harry! Don't tell me you're sorry. And don't promise to be better," Draco said, shocked at how Harry was still obviously so wounded by what those Muggles had done to him. But, as he thought about it, he realised that years of abuse were going to take more than a month to sort out. Right now, Harry needed love and gentle encouragement; so he allowed his anger to flow out of him, and looked straight into Harry's so beautiful green eyes with all the honesty and love that he could muster. "You're hurt, and wounded, and we're going to deal with it, alright? I told you before, I'm here as long as you want me, and I still mean that. I'm not going anywhere. I love you, Harry."

"OK," Harry said; but Draco knew he wasn't, quite, not yet.

"How about we just stay here for a while? Maybe get Kreacher to bring breakfast and the Prophet, and we can read it together, and see just how bad the article really is?"

Harry smiled at him. "Yeah, I'd like that."

* * *

The headline of the Sunday edition of _The Daily Prophet_ sat over a rather nice picture of Harry, Kingsley and Elphias.

_**THE POTTER CODE**_

_**Harry Potter talks exclusively to Rita Skeeter**_

The article began

_Well dear readers, I'm sure you'll be just as excited as I am to learn that the Destroyer of Voldemort has spoken exclusively to this paper about the plans that the Ministry, the Wizengamot and the Man-Who-Lived-Twice have for reforming our society. It seems that a genuine and wide-ranging attempt is being made to root out many issues that have plagued our society for the last hundred years or so. One of the most important pieces of the ambitious programme suggested by Mr Potter must surely be healing the rifts that have been made between the pure-blood, half-blood and Muggle-born witches and wizards, rifts that were very successfully exploited by Voldemort._

_It seemed a great irony to this reporter when she learnt that Voldemort, or Tom Riddle to give his actual name, was himself not a pure-blood wizard at all; his father, it turns out, was a Muggle. So, like his Destroyer, Voldemort was in fact a half-blood. Perhaps, as Mr Potter was too modest to even hint, being a pure-blood is not the marker of superiority we have always been taught it was?_

_See inside for more details, p12._

They turned to page twelve, to find that the text settled down into an unexpectedly accurate and succinct report of the interview of the day before; Harry was both delighted and surprised to find that Skeeter could actually write serious prose pretty well.

"This is really good," he said, finding that at last he could calm down completely. "I didn't know she could write without spite."

"Probably had another reporter's help, and a very good editor," Draco suggested.

"I don't know that that's fair; I've never read a serious article by her before. Maybe she has hidden talents," Harry protested, and Draco gave a wry smile, both bemused and perturbed at how quickly Harry would try to give the benefit of the doubt to someone who had so recently been the cause of his nightmares.

In fact, Draco was spot on. Most of the article had indeed been written up from Skeeter's transcript by Dempster Wiggleswade, the legal issues columnist for the Prophet, who was not at all pleased that Skeeter got the by-line instead of him, and then edited by their summer intern, Susan Bones. Rita had really only written the top and tail of the article; and the sting, Harry found, was definitely in the tail, as he read the last paragraph out loud:

_Mr Potter also spoke to us candidly about his friends and his own love life. Sorry, girls, but there is already a significant other in his life! Who, I hear you ask? We'll tell all in tomorrow's Harry Potter exclusive edition of the Daily Prophet! Definitely don't miss that one!_

"Damn!" he said.

"What's the matter?" Draco asked, and then realised. "Oh. I see. They got two days of material out of you, which means you'll be the subject for two days running. Clever of them, in a mean low-down sort of way."

"Not only that," Harry said, rather cross with the Prophet's tactic. "I'm betting that the agreement about vetting with the Ministry won't stretch to tomorrow's article, so it won't be controlled like today's was. And it gives her another day to find out more dirt on us."

"Ah," said Draco. "Tricky. I wonder if my father could help."

"Lucius?" Harry asked.

"No, my other father," Draco answered sarcastically. "Yes of course Lucius. He has the Chief Editor of the Daily Prophet eating out of his hand."

"How did he do that?"

"Oh, Harry, you're such an innocent. Father has files on these people going back a long way. Don't look so scandalised," Draco said with mild amusement, "he doesn't even have to mention what's in them any more, they just know that if Lucius Malfoy says back off, they do. Any way, there's one upside of Skeeter not breaking the story today: we get another day of not being harassed for our relationship."

"You really think we will?" Harry asked.

"You really think we won't?" Draco rejoined, astonished. "Our friends may have accepted it, Harry; but even then, it was a struggle for Seamus, if you remember, and Blaise had to be talked round by Pansy. It's a bit much to expect the general wizarding public to be even that accommodating – there will be some who hate it because it's me, the former Death Eater daring to touch the Great Harry Potter; the Dark Lord's followers will hate the idea of the despised Harry Potter touching me, even if they do think of me as a traitor; and some will hate it because we're both men. No, the extra day is a good thing; with any luck we can get father's help to work on whatever she's said."

Harry still looked unimpressed, so Draco continued, "tell you what, let's discuss it with father at lunch. What do you want to do for what's left of this morning?"

"Good question," Harry replied. He took a moment to think before saying, "I don't feel like any more repair work today; and we won't get much done anyway," he added, noting that it was twenty to ten already. "We probably should keep a low profile after Friday's attack and the interview being published. How about visiting Andy and Teddy?"

Draco thought this was a brilliant idea, and said so. But even with this plan in place, it took a few cuddles and kisses before Harry was really ready to get out of bed. At quarter past ten they Floo-called Andromeda, who said she would be delighted for them to visit for a couple of hours.

* * *

Teddy was ecstatic to see them, and showed it in his own metamorphmagus style, by alternating between silver-eyes-and-blond-hair and green-eyes-and-black-hair so rapidly that it made everybody dizzy.

"Teddy!" Harry called to him, laughing as he picked up the little baby. "Please, just pick one look!" And, as soon as Harry had him, he stayed with green eyes and black hair, looking up at Harry and gooing and gahing for all he was worth.

They played with him for close on an hour, and the company was obviously very stimulating because at the end he fell asleep in Draco's arms – with silver eyes and blond hair now.

Once Andromeda put him to bed, she asked Penny White, the Auror who had come with them, how she took her tea; and then produced tea and seed cake for the four of them.

"Thank you, ma'am," Penny said. "Most people just treat us as part of the furniture, it's nice to be thought of."

"Da- Bother!" said Harry, stopping the swear-word just in time. "I meant to say something about that in the interview. Of course we should treat Aurors as people, even if they are on duty."

"I'm sure that will come out in the wash, sir," Penny said, adding "may I say that all the Aurors know your position on this, and we are really delighted that you speak up about it."

"You may," Harry replied, "as long as you stop calling me 'sir' and asking my permission to say things. My name is 'Harry', OK?"

"Certainly, Harry," the Auror replied, not missing a beat. "Please call me Penny."

"We all will, Penny," Andromeda replied. "And I'll add my five knuts worth: Harry, that was some article. But with a by-line of Rita Skeeter I'm sure you won't be offended if I ask, how much of it did you actually say?"

Harry looked bashful, so Draco replied, "most of it. We did have a document written by the Ministry, compiled out of all the things Harry's said in the last few months, but rewritten beautifully. A lot of what Harry said came from that, but then before that most of it came from him anyway."

"Yeah, but I never said it so well," Harry added.

"Doesn't matter," Andy replied, "you said it first. I'm very proud of you, Harry. You're not even eighteen yet, and you produce ideas that have never occurred to the Wizengamot or the Ministry. It's a breath of fresh air, and sorely needed after all that evil man did to us all. But, there, I've done it again, introduced a somber note. Let's forget all about that. Are you lunching at the Manor today?"

"Yes," Draco said, and a sly smile played on his face. Harry was oblivious to it, but Andromeda wasn't; she arched an eyebrow at him, and he surreptitiously raised a finger to his lips. Andromeda gave a tight smile of her own; and so they had an entire conversation without Harry realising a thing.

* * *

"Oh God, not again …"

He lay in bed for a few minutes, just until the world stopped spinning quite so violently; then downed the hangover potion he had somehow remembered to put on his bedside cabinet in a swift, well-practiced movement, as he wondered exactly what had happened last night. Let's see ... He'd met up with Pansy, and Millicent had tagged along, but that was all right, people would leave them alone if she was with them, and he hadn't been in the mood for a lot of socialising … Except …

"Shit!" he swore loudly, as he realised just exactly who that woman in the bar had been. What had he told her? He could remember Pansy buying him drinks, and then the newcomer had cornered him, and bought more … How much had he had? The throbbing in his head said, 'too much'. He suspected that the butterbeers had been laced with something else; he had a passing memory of shots of fire-whiskey at the end of the night after the girls had left in a huff.

There was a tapping at the bedroom window as an owl arrived with the Daily Prophet. He paid it off, crawled back into bed, and opened the paper. '_THE POTTER CODE - Harry Potter talks exclusively to Rita Skeeter_' he read, and groaned. He scanned through the article until he found what he was looking for in the last paragraph: '_We'll tell all in tomorrow's Harry Potter exclusive edition of the Daily Prophet!'_

"Shit!" he said again. Blaise Zabini knew he was going to be in a **lot** of trouble at lunchtime. And he was already going to be late …

* * *

Once more, it was a lovely day and Narcissa suggested lunching in the garden again. Blaise had Floo-called to say that he was very sorry but would be a little late, and asked them please not to wait for him; so Narcissa took them through the very elegant French doors they had been through a week earlier, but turned left instead of right, and Harry found himself being led to a different part of the garden entirely. They came around the corner of the manor, and the planting changed completely. They had walked through a very formal rose garden with box hedges into a beautiful English cottage garden.

Harry stopped dead, speechless.

"Do you like it?" Narcissa asked.

"_Like_ it?" he asked. "It's beautiful." And then suddenly the sickle dropped as he realised that the plants were not well established and the beds looked new; this must be what Draco and Blaise had done yesterday morning.

"You did this for me?" he asked, astonished.

Draco, coming up behind him, put his arms around him, and spoke softly into his ear.

"Arthur gave Mother and I a bit of a hint that you might appreciate something like this."

Harry's eyes filled with tears as he thought of all the effort they had put into creating this special place, simply because he had told Arthur about his dream of a cottage garden. He was overwhelmed with the feeling of being loved by these people who a few weeks before had officially, if not factually, been his enemies. And he was amazed to learn that they loved him enough to bury their pride and abandon the enmity they had always had towards the Weasleys. He turned around and, for the second time that day, overcome by emotion, buried his head in the blond's shoulder.

Lucius, coming out of another set of French doors beside the garden, found a strange scene before his eyes: his wife, alone, watching the two boys clasped together.

"Is everything all right?" he asked Narcissa, very quietly, his voice concerned. _Did we overdo it? _He wondered to himself.

"Oh yes, I think so," Narcissa answered, equally softly. "I think Harry's just a bit overcome that we would do something like this for him."

For an instant, Lucius looked puzzled. And then the stories his wife had told him about Harry's upbringing slotted in to place, and he stepped over to the raven-haired boy, easing him from Draco's arms.

"Harry," he said, his voice soft and gentle, "Narcissa told me what you told her about those horrible people – don't worry," he added hastily, seeing the panic rising in Harry's eyes, "it's what husbands and wives do–"

"No secrets, remember," Draco murmured.

"Quite," Lucius said. "And Draco wanted to do something to show you what this family is like. How we treat people who belong. Yes, Harry, the Debt means we belong together; and this corner of the garden is yours, to show you that we mean it."

Harry blinked the tears away and looked at the Malfoy patriarch in a new light. "You're doing this for me?" he asked again. "All three of you?"

"Of course," Lucius asked; though it was a miracle he could breathe afterwards given the fierceness of the hug Harry gave him.

* * *

Blaise arrived not long after, full of apologies to his hostess and having all too obviously got dressed in a big hurry. Draco could tell all the signs; he had known Blaise for a very long time, after all.

"Just what did you get up to last night?" he asked, his tone bantering but not entirely happy.

Blaise looked a bit sheepish, and Narcissa came to his rescue. "Now, darling, let Blaise eat his lunch, please." And so they sat in the garden and ate lunch: roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, to fit with the very English garden they were sitting in. Draco decided to give Blaise a bit of time, and brought up the interview in the Prophet; Lucius declared himself full of admiration for how well Harry had handled himself, having to deal with such a formidable and feisty interviewer. Harry positively blossomed under the praise, and both Lucius and Narcissa thought the same thing to see it: _the Dursleys will pay! _It was just so easy to believe that he had never been praised growing up, seeing what a thimbleful of it could do to him now.

"Yes, father," Draco answered, "but what about tomorrow's article?"

Blaise blanched. "I think maybe …" He stopped, and started again. "I'm sorry. You were right, Draco, I did go out last night, with Pansy and Millicent, and we had a nice time, and much to drink, and then …"

Draco looked at him, realising exactly what had happened. "She was there, wasn't she?"

Blaise looked crestfallen. "Yes," he said, not daring to look Draco in the eye.

"Blaise," Harry said, his voice firm, "are you telling us you talked to Rita Skeeter?"

Blaise looked up. It would be cowardly not to, he decided. He had called Harry a milk-sop; he couldn't chicken out now, it would just prove what a coward he was. But when he looked into the brilliant green eyes of Harry Potter, his heart skipped a beat. He had little idea what to expect – anger for sure, maybe disappointment, maybe hatred; but he found none of these things. No, the look in Harry's eyes was the look of a friend who wanted to know how bad things were, not to know how angry to be with him, but to know what would have to be done to fix it. Blaise almost lost it to see that look. He could easily have handled being yelled at, or scolded, or even a frosty glare. But he had no idea how to deal with the love that was radiating towards him from Harry Potter.

"I did," he said, simply. "She latched on to me, and got me drunk; and I told her about the party at your house. And I think maybe I tell her what I said …" and Blaise was clearly remembering the incident; he went as red as the Gryffindor common room as he explained exactly what he had said.

"Interesting," Lucius observed. It had not escaped him what game Skeeter was playing in the Prophet article that morning; and he knew what havoc she could wreak out of ill-chosen words. Not, he ruminated to himself, that she really needed them; he wouldn't put it past her to make up half of what she wrote. Or, more likely, three-quarters.

Nonetheless, he didn't wish to prolong Zabini's discomfort. "I suggest a word with Barnabas Cuffe might be in order," he said, knowing that with a little pressure on the Editor-in-Chief, any indiscretions from Blaise could become just youthful high-jinks. "I wonder … Harry, you mentioned about Voldemort being a half-blood, would you be prepared to expand on that?"

Harry thought for a bit. He could, he decided, safely reveal the Riddle and Gaunt story; but the horcruxes and hallows should probably stay secret … the hallows … _there's a thought – for another time_, he decided, as Lucius was waiting, patiently, for a reply.

"Yes, I think I could; why?"

"Well, we could bully Cuffe into letting us vet Skeeter's article; but these things always go better if we can offer a _quid pro quo_."

As Harry looked baffled, Draco explained, "A 'quid pro quo' means something for something. Turn and turn about. Say, for example, you give then another interview discussing Voldemort's origins, and in return we get to edit Skeeter's article."

"I'm so ashamed," Blaise said, still surprised that these plans were being made to cover up his mistake. As a Slytherin, he had always expected he'd have to clean up his own messes; but clearly with Harry Potter around, the rules had changed.

"It may all be for the best," Narcissa observed. "Harry can lead an article about Voldemort's origins back to the causes of his madness, and the steps that the Potter Code might suggest to deal with them. So it becomes another opportunity to reinforce the message."

"That's brilliant!" Harry exclaimed, channeling his inner Ron Weasley. Narcissa smiled.

* * *

After lunch, Lucius took Draco and Blaise to his study to make arrangements to deal with the Daily Prophet; Narcissa looped her arm through Harry's, telling him there was something else she wanted him to see. She took him through a little gate at the side of the cottage garden. Instantly, the scene was completely different: they moved from English cottage garden to Japanese rock garden. There was no grass; instead, the ground was strewn with white gravel, raked to suggest waves in water. There was a small pavilion at the edge, and she led him there. They sat on low trestles, looking into the garden, which was surrounded by a stone wall. Set at apparently random points in the garden were large stones, some with mosses growing on them. At one end of the garden, a red bridge led out into the space beyond; behind the wall, they could see distant hills.

An intense sense of peace settled on Harry. "This is a beautiful place," he said to Narcissa. "Thank you for bringing me here."

"This garden is Draco's favourite," she said. "He loved to come here, especially when things went to Hell inside the house. The garden was warded so none of our – ah – guests could find it. Of course, he couldn't come often, or stay long."

Harry understood the oblique reference to the time they would all rather forget, and he was glad to learn that Draco had had such a place to come to for a little respite. And he could see another reason that Narcissa had for bringing him here: a reason that reminded him again how much she loved her son, yes, but also showed just how much she respected him, and wanted to help him.

They sat together in silence for a time, Harry drinking in the beauty of the garden, and the view, and Narcissa's love for her son, and her concern for him. It shook him quite a bit; but the peace of the place came into his soul, and he was grateful.

"Thank you," he said eventually, and Narcissa just smiled. She remembered the day in the Gryffindor dormitory when she had been so unsure of him. That day, that insecurity, she knew now, was long gone.

* * *

When they left the Japanese rock garden, Harry felt a change in the wards. He looked back to see the gate, and discovered that it was now barely discernable.

"Ah," said Narcissa. "The garden, as I said, could not be found by our guests; the wards are still there. I must remind Lucius to remove them."

"Why?" Harry asked. "Why not keep having a secret garden?"

Narcissa mused a little about the idea; yes, Draco would probably enjoy it, she thought. But she would get Lucius to weaken the wards so Harry, at least, could go there whenever he wanted. They owed him that.

* * *

As they walked through the cottage garden on the way back inside, they found Blaise sitting by himself at the table they had had lunch at.

"Harry," he said, standing up as soon as he saw them; Narcissa looked at him and immediately realised she was _de trop _here; Blaise had the look of wanting a private conversation.

"I'll see you inside," she said warmly, and went in through the French doors.

Blaise continued, grateful to Narcissa for her tact, "I want to apologize, Harry."

Harry looked at him, astonished. "What for?" he asked.

"I told tales about you. I should never do so. You are so good to me, Harry, so good to us all. We from Slytherin, we are not used to being treated so kindly by the other houses. But I know times have changed. I can see from Draco, we must work together; but I keep letting you down. My temper gets in the way; I assure you it is not deliberate, but even so, I am making things hard for you. I apologise."

"There's no need, Blaise," the green-eyed boy reassured him. "You don't 'keep letting me down'; you may have done it twice, but I'm sure we can work things out together. And Rita is impossible, I understand that; you got drunk and she took advantage."

"Yes, but I should have been smarter. I'm sorry; I seem to have brought you only pain. I wish there was some way to make it up to you."

Harry smiled; but there was something Slytherin about the smile, Blaise thought, and it wasn't exactly reassuring.

"Perhaps there is …"

* * *

Once they had finished their conversation, Blaise Flooed home and Harry rejoined the others in Lucius's study. He found that the three had been joined by four wizards. Two of them were introduced to Harry: Barnabas Cuffe, the Editor-in-Chief of the Daily Prophet, and Dempster Wiggleswade, the legal issues columnist for the paper, and employee of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. There was, of course, no need to introduce Arthur Weasley or Filius Flitwick.

The two journalists cut very different figures. The Editor was a tall, very large, sandy-haired man with a ruddy complexion, a booming voice, and a bone-crushing handshake. He had, Harry decided, Presence. Which no doubt was an essential characteristic if you were going to be in charge of a rag like the Daily Prophet. The man presumably had a hide like a rhinoceros as well; Harry wondered for a moment exactly what Lucius had on the man before quickly deciding he'd rather not know.

Wiggleswade, on the other hand, though nearly as tall as his journalistic boss, was a lean, angular man, who came across as a bit fussy and pedantic. The handshake he gave Harry, while firm, was not at all unpleasant. Of the two, Harry thought, Wiggleswade was certainly the more trustworthy.

"It seems, Harry, that I was right about the article," Draco said once the introductions were concluded. "It was almost entirely written by Mr Wiggleswade; Skeeter only wrote the piece on the front page and the last paragraph, while Mr Wiggleswade wrote the rest from her notes."

"Then I must thank you, sir," Harry said. "It was a very accurate and well-written article, I thought."

"Thank you, young man," the older wizard replied, his voice quiet and incisive. "And please, call me Dempster. I'm delighted to have your approval of my writing because I was hoping to write a further article, following up on your comments about He–Who- … about Voldemort."

"Dempster works for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Harry, as well as being a columnist for the Daily Prophet," Arthur explained. "So we'd be delighted for him to interview you in his capacity as a Ministry employee and then write an article for the Daily Prophet. The article would be vetted by the Ministry, of course, to make sure that the text was appropriate for public consumption; though Dempster has always been fair in all of his articles."

"And Mr Cuffe has kindly agreed to allow us to preview and amend the article for tomorrow," Lucius said, trying hard to hide the amusement in his voice.

"Yes, well, I don't see that I have much choice," the editor began, rather huffily and self-important, but Arthur interrupted him.

"My dear Barnabus, you're getting a whole extra article from Mr Potter," he said smoothly. "And, if it goes well, perhaps the Ministry might see fit to allow you to publish some more details in the future."

"Very well then," Cuffe said, obviously understanding the implicit threat if he did not co-operate, as he produced the proof copy of Rita's article for the following morning. He tried to look disinterested, but the glint of greed in his eyes was all Harry needed to know that he desperately wanted more from them. Arthur had hit pay-dirt.

Lucius used a simple copying charm to create a copy of the document for each of them, and they sat in his study reading it. It was obvious to Harry what needed to be changed; and when they got together, it turned out that they all pretty much agreed on how the article should be amended for publication –everyone except Cuffe, of course, he quite liked it as it was; but he was immediately overruled by a simple lifted eyebrow from Lucius.

Not wanting to cause a rift and break the delicate peace they seemed to have brokered, Narcissa, who had taken longest to read, spoke up.

"I wonder, Mr Cuffe," she began, and paused just a little.

"Yes, ma'am?" he asked, falling neatly into her little trap.

"Oh, I though perhaps that the article might work particularly well, especially now with the agreed changes, if it were accompanied by a photograph of Harry and Draco?"

Again, Cuffe tried to look unaffected, but they could all see he was practically jumping out of his skin at the prospect. As it happened, the photograph of Harry, Kingsley and Elphias published this morning had been commented on by many readers; he had a swag of Letters to the Editor already in his postbox saying how nice it was to see the Saviour working together with the Minister and Chief Wizard. Most of them, to be sure, were so sickly sweet they could have been written by Umbridge, but several of them had already been earmarked for publication in the Letters to the Editor page. He could already visualise the mail from a picture of these two young and, frankly, stunningly attractive wizards gracing the front page. It didn't matter to him that the mail would probably generally express disappointment that the two were now off the market, or outrage that they were together; he was, after all, a newspaperman, anything that sold more papers and generated more interest in the Prophet was money in the bank to him.

His thoughts were interrupted by Harry saying to him, "if we're going to agree to a photograph, there's just one other thing, Mr Cuffe."

"Please, Harry, call me Barnabus," the editor rejoined, ignoring the glower he got from the older wizards at using Harry's first name.

"Well, Barnabus, I would like to ask you to stop referring to me as the 'Saviour' please."

Cuffe choked. "What?" he asked. "Why the hell would we do that?"

"Because it's not true," Harry said. "Oh, I know I killed Voldemort, and I died first, and all that. But if we keep thinking we need extraordinary witches and wizards to save us, we're not going to build the society I want to live in. We need to believe, to know, that everyone is important. Everyone matters. Everyone has a part to play in rebuilding our society."

"Sounds like you've swallowed a Ministry propaganda pamphlet, Mr Potter," the editor said, not at all pleased to hear such a well-thought-out ideology from one so young. His paper thrived on people who didn't think very much and said things that they could bend to their own agenda; it wasn't much good having people with a clear voice of their own, especially if they were backed by the Ministry.

If Cuffe had hoped to anger Harry, he failed magnificently; for the raven-haired man threw his head back and laughed at this description. "Oh, I bet Kingsley wishes I would!", he said. "But for my part, I want to go back to being a student."

The mention of the Minister had brought a laugh from all of them, and Lucius took advantage of the break in conversation to suggest to Cuffe that he organise a Prophet photographer. Narcissa, spotting that his plan was to get the editor away from the conversation altogether, suggested that he might like to come and choose a spot for the photograph in the garden, which he agreed to happily.

Once he had left, Harry turned to Flitwick.

"Is that why you're here, Professor? To discuss the school year?" he asked, turning to Flitwick.

"Not quite," the tiny wizard twittered. "Of course, that will come up eventually, but right now we need to consider your safety, Mr Potter, Mr Malfoy, if you continue to work at Hogwarts, especially in light of the cowardly attack on Mr Malfoy on Friday."

"I think, Filius, it might be simpler to use first names, especially as there are three Malfoys present," Lucius interrupted.

"Very well," Flitwick agreed readily. "Harry, Draco has already accepted my apologies for what happened on Friday, and indicated that he wishes to continue to work at the Castle if at all possible. Of course, we are keen to have whatever help we can, and you are both particularly welcome, as present students, and as you have proven wonderful both for the quality of your workmanship and for the way in which you have encouraged your peers to work." Both Harry and Draco blushed under all this praise.

"Auror protection will be stepped up, and the Ministry has approved stronger wards for Hogwarts while the rebuilding continues," Arthur interjected. "With that in mind, Harry, are you happy to keep working at Hogwarts?"

Harry nodded.

"Not a word in the Prophet, though," Arthur said to Wiggleswade, sternly. "It's dangerous enough without publicising where they are."

"Understood," Dempster answered. He didn't exactly like keeping secrets from Cuffe; but he had decided long ago that his main career was at the Ministry, and he had always made it clear to Cuffe that he would not jeopardise it. To give Cuffe his due, he had seen that a willing columnist from the Ministry's Department of Legal Enforcement was a huge bonus to the Prophet, so he had accepted these terms, if not exactly happily, then at least without complaint.

* * *

The Prophet photographer arrived soon after they had finished discussing the situation at Hogwarts and Filtwick had returned to the school. The photograph was taken with Harry and Draco sitting in the cottage garden, smiling at the camera and then moving for a very chaste little kiss. Barnabus and the photographer then returned to the Prophet office with the amended text that Lucius and Arthur had written up while the photograph was being taken; and Dempster was given his interview in Lucius's study.

No doubt Wiggleswade would have liked a cosy tête-à-tête with Harry; but Arthur and Lucius practically insisted on being present, and Dempster could hardly refuse his boss's boss and his host. Much of the material Harry shared was unknown to the Wizarding world; Voldemort had hidden his origins well. He discussed the Gaunts, outlining the events he had witnessed with Dumbledore in the pensieve, and how Voldemort was descended from Salazar Slytherin through his mother, Marvolo Gaunt's daughter Merope. He discussed Tom Riddle senior, the Muggle that Merope Gaunt loved and bewitched using a Love potion. He explained how he had left her once the potion had worn off, and Tom had been taken to an orphanage and found there by one Albus Dumbledore, who brought him to Hogwarts and thus began the known history of Tom Marvolo Riddle, later known as Lord Voldemort.

And then Harry paused. "Um, I should probably discuss the dark magic that Tom did to try to become immortal; but I don't know how much should be published …"

"That's all right," said Arthur. "You tell Dempster everything and he and I will discuss later exactly what can be published and what can't."

And so Harry discussed the horcruxes, explaining how they made killing their creator difficult, as they had to be destroyed first; and that in order to create them, one had to commit murder; and the eyes of the other wizards went very wide to discover the lengths that Voldemort had gone to in his attempt to live forever. He explained how the first horcrux to be created, and the first to be discovered, was the diary that Lucius had slipped into Ginny's cauldron in her first year; and then suddenly realised who was in the room with him. But Lucius apologised profoundly to Arthur, confessing that he hadn't known the extent of its evil, or he would never have done it; and Arthur said he accepted this apology, and that Lucius acted in ignorance, and asked Harry to continue.

And so Harry discussed the remaining horcruxes. He traced the history of Slytherin's ring from the shack the Gaunts lived in to Dumbledore finding and destroying it. Likewise, he explained that the Gaunts had Slytherin's locket, which he and Dumbledore had visited the island in the cave to retrieve, which had eventually weaken Dumbledore on the night he was killed; to no purpose, as it was not there, having been at Grimmauld Place until Mundungus Fletcher had stolen it and Umbridge had taken it off him. He explained, somewhat sheepishly, about breaking in to the Ministry and retrieving it from the hated Head of the Muggle-Born Registration Commission. He explained about Hufflepuff's cup and Ravenclaw's diadem.

At this point, there came the pop of house-elf apparition, and Mappy stood there in front of them.

"Mistress is apologising to Masters for interrupting," he said warily, obviously not relishing entering Lucius's study unbidden, "but would be liking to know if Masters is wanting some tea soon?"

Lucius eyed Harry, who mouthed 'not much more' to him, so he replied to Mappy, "thank you, Mappy, please tell Mistress Narcissa that we should be finished in twenty minutes or so."

Harry was grateful for the interruption; it helped him to gather himself to tell the stories of the two living horcruxes. Nagini was easy; he slotted in the story of Snape's death as well, so they would understand just how much of a hero this double-agent had been. And he was glad again that it was someone else who had destroyed the horcrux; it only then occurred to him that he had destroyed only the diary: Dumbledore had destroyed the ring; Ron, the locket; Hermione, the cup; Vince – and wasn't that ironic – the diadem; Neville the snake; and Voldemort himself the last piece.

"Nagini was the last horcrux we destroyed, but there was one more," he said. "One that we believe Tom never knew he had created: when he killed my mother, he made one more horcrux out of the only living creature left in the house: me."

"You were a horcrux?" Arthur gasped.

"Yes," said Harry. "And so when Voldemort cast Avada Kedavra on me in the Forbidden Forest, he unwittingly killed, not me, but a piece of himself."

With that, Harry finished. He wanted to keep all the rest to himself: the hallows, meeting his parents, seeing Dumbledore in the replica of King's Cross Station; these would remain private.

Dempster, who had been making notes like mad, finally finished scribbling. "Mr Potter –"

"Harry," Harry corrected.

"Harry," the other wizard said, with a smile; Dempster had noticed how much the others had not liked Cuffe calling him by his first name, so had waited for the invitation. "This is truly amazing. I will write it up and discuss it with my superiors – Arthur, do you want me to run it by you?" Arthur nodded his consent. "Fine," Dempster continued, "and I will send you a copy of the article tomorrow night so you're aware of what will be published."

"Excellent!" Lucius said. "Mappy!"

The elf reappeared.

"Where is Mistress Narcissa planning on having tea? We are ready now."

The elf smiled, glad that he was obviously not in trouble. "Mistress Narcissa is serving tea in Master Harry Potter's garden, sirs," he said, bowing low and disapparating, not waiting for any reply.

* * *

At the tea table, Harry discovered he felt quite a relief at having gone through the story of the horcruxes in such detail, and knowing he would probably never have to again. Draco, noting that his lover seemed to be in a particularly good mood, suggested that they might go flying after tea. Harry's face lit up, but then he realised he still didn't have a broom.

"You can borrow one of mine, I have a spare" Draco said. _Of __**course**__ he has a spare, _Harry thought, remembering the size of Draco's suite and how different their upbringings had been. But he wasn't going to let that spoil what had been, on the whole, a lovely day; so, when Dempsey went back to the Ministry to write up the transcript and Arthur went home, the two boys made their way to the field behind the Malfoy's garden and took to their brooms. Draco produced a snitch, and they spent a very happy couple of hours chasing it. When they returned to the manor, Harry was leading five-three and Draco was pleased to see that all of the angst he had had at the start of the day had vanished. He had thought of tackling Harry about the nightmares; but somehow there hadn't been time during the rather busy day, and he certainly didn't want to remind him of them now.

Narcissa didn't miss the happy face of her son's lover, either, as they came in to have a shower.

"Would you like to stay to dinner?" she asked.

"Oh, I wouldn't want to trouble you," Harry said.

Narcissa smiled at him fondly. "You never have, Harry. Please, do stay. And you're welcome to stay the night, of course."

Harry thought about this for a couple of seconds; he really did want to, he realised, especially as Draco's parents would almost certainly love to have their son home for the night; so he happily accepted Narcissa's kind offer.

* * *

_**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **Grateful thanks as always to Bicky Monster for all their help._

**_** FACEBOOK ** In a blatant attempt to steal ideas from you all, I've set up a page called 'Achilles The Geek', feel free to send friend requests_**

___You can also find this story on archiveofourown dot org._

_A very long chapter, I hope you enjoyed it!  
_

_Thanks to all who are following and favoriting! Gives me a lovely warm feeling that you're interested. And double thanks with vanilla slices to those who review.  
_

_Seriously, reviews are much appreciated. _

_****__Replies: __I do reply individually, but I also feel you should be acknowledged (and maybe other people want to know my answers to your questions too!). Please do log in to comment, I enjoy responding individually._

___**Mayle:** How very kind. Not so calm and collected at the beginning of the chapter, though. Still, if he has a way to go, it took years for him to get this screwed up, we can't begrudge him nightmares!  
F+G is definitely a strategy; and I love writing the odd purely whimsical scene with them._

**Cherrie-san** The animagus form obviously affected Harry quite a bit. But it certainly looks like her poison pen is being curbed. We'll have to wait still to see, sorry.

**KillJoy7772 **How lovely to have brightened another day! As you see, Rita got to Blaise first; but I think Harry has a cunning plan, by the sound of it. We'll have to wait and see if he lives up to it ...

**IamACritic** How very kind. There is a plot in there somewhere, but the story seems to have a mind of its own as it meanders along ...

**sara** Oh I don't dislike Rita. That would take more energy than she deserves :^) And now we know what Draco was up to - very sweet, I thought.

**MirrorFlower and DarkWind** No Dursleys yet, I'm sorry, but there will be some excitement soon.


	30. Returning to Type

30 Returning to Type

_Monday, 1 June 1998_

Harry came awake slowly. He lay in bed with his eyes closed. There was definitely something different. Something about the room. The light playing over his closed eyelids was wrong, somehow. And the smell wasn't the same. There was still the intoxicating, marvelous smell that belonged to Draco, to be sure; but it wasn't quite how he remembered it. Stronger, somehow.

He opened his eyes to survey an unfamiliar ceiling; and it all came back to him. Of course, they had spent the night at the Manor; and, for the first time ever, he had slept in Draco's bed.

"Morning, sleepy-head," a voice drawled next to him, and Harry turned and gazed into the beautiful silver eyes of his lover. "I'm guessing, from the lack of nightmares," Draco continued, "that you slept well last night?"

"Yes, thank you," Harry agreed, his eyes twinkling. He had very much enjoyed their – ah – activities after bedtime; Draco had insisted on christening his bed as it was the first time they had slept in it together. Harry hoped that the silencing charms were up to the noise they had made as they had used their hands to bring each other to orgasm.

But now it was a new day. And, he remembered, today was the day that Skeeter's article about them would be published.

"I suppose," he said, "we'd better face the music."

Draco looked puzzled. "Muggle saying," Harry explained. "Meaning we have to go and take what's coming to us. Today, through Rita's article."

The blond's look of incomprehension was replaced by one of calm resignation, mixed with a small amount of fear: the witch had never posted nasty things about **him**, Harry remembered. Well, they just had to face it and see how bad it was. It should, of course, be exactly what they had agreed on; but somehow he didn't trust Skeeter that much.

-#-

_**THE BOY WHO LOVED!**_

_**By Rita Skeeter**_

He skimmed through the article. It was nauseating, just like the picture of the two of them emblazoned on the front page. By the time he had finished reading, he had nearly lost his breakfast. Twice.

Yaxley despised this new 'let's all love everyone' philosophy they called the Potter Code. As far as he was concerned, it was nothing more than idealistic twaddle. The collective brains of the Wizarding world seemed to have turned into mush; they had all become a mob of sycophants, desperate to fawn all over Harry Sodding Potter, the Boy Who Could Do No Wrong.

But did he have a real plan? Something that would last? No. Wizarding society had to be built on a solid, firm foundation; that was obvious. And whatever they said, it was the Pure-bloods who understood how things really worked. This rallying-cry of "all together", this idea that blood status did not matter, was palpable nonsense. It was self-evident that the Mudbloods had no clue; how could they possibly know about being wizards, when everything they learnt in childhood was irreparably tainted with Muggleness? They had no history to guide them, no idea what it really was to be a wizard. Yaxley convinced himself that he did not actually despise them; they just needed a firm hand, careful guidance. They needed to be taught properly. Carefully. Kindly. But the idea that they might have something to add, some wisdom to impart, that was beyond stupidity.

And that idea came from the witches and wizards he did despise: the half-bloods, who mixed pure heritage with unspeakable Muggle ideas to produce abominations like the Potter Code. And the thrice-cursed blood-traitors, who had no excuse, they should have known better, but sided with the Muggle influence. He was sure it was this latter group who were promulgating this new heresy that the Dark Lord himself was half-blood. The lie had been given by Potter; but Yaxley was sure it originated from the hated Muggle-loving Albus Dumbledore.

No, the Wizarding world needed to be based on the tried and true Wizarding ways, and that meant pure-blood ways. Voldemort had had the right idea: pure-bloods were the natural leaders of their world. They knew how to lead. To give proper direction, not this endless popularity contest that they seemed to be stuck in right now.

It was time to wake them up. Time to show them what real leadership was like. What a proper leader with a firm hand was like, not that vacillating fool Shacklebolt. To begin with, he would show them what should be done with traitors. As always when he thought of the revenge he had planned, a hideous grin spread over his face. He scanned the article again to see if it gave him any hope. _Hmm.. What was this? _A paragraph in the middle caught his attention:

_Your reporter, knowing how eager you all are for news of our hero, has been interviewing_

_friends of Mr Potter and Mr Malfoy to gain some insights into the lives of our favourite couple._

_I was privileged to chat with the elegant Mr Blaise Zabini, class-mate of Draco Malfoy's and fellow  
Slytherin House member. Mr Zabini, it seems, visited Mr Potter's house, and tells me that he was  
not entirely the gracious well-bred host; leaving his guests to go to bed! But surely we don't mind  
- no doubt our hero needs his sleep!_

His first thought had been that that it was Skeeter's usual tittle-tattle, but on rereading it, he saw another possibility. To bad-mouth Potter, there must be some feeling there. A little jealousy, perhaps? Zabini wouldn't be a Slytherin if he wasn't a bit miffed at Malfoy taking up with the most Gryffindor of Gryffindors. The friend scorned, perhaps? His grin sharpened as his ideas crystallised into a direct plan of action. Perhaps our Mr Zabini might be receptive to a little friendly persuasion …

-#-

Harry and Draco came downstairs to find Narcissa eating breakfast in the cottage garden. It was the perfect day for it: sunny, but not too hot. There was a slight breeze, and the trees planted as a border were swaying slightly, creating a delightful dappled sunlight effect. And the scent, particularly from the roses, was delightful. Narcissa fitted into this scene as though it had been made for her: her striking looks and blonde hair offset beautifully by the lavender bush behind her.

"Good morning, boys; I hope you slept well?"

"Very well, thank you," said Harry, as they sat down together, across from her.

"Tolerably well, thank you mother," Draco drawled; and Harry half-suspected he was simply being disagreeable for the hell of it, especially when he saw the amused smile ghosting Narcissa's lips. "Where is father?"

"Behind you," the aristocrat's voice said, as he stepped into the garden and came over to sit next to his wife. A house elf appeared and took orders for breakfast, which was swiftly delivered.

"I'm surprised at you, father, eating so informally," Draco teased him, as he and Harry tucked in to the pancakes they had ordered.

"Well, while Harry is here, we thought he might enjoy spending time in his garden." Harry blushed, and Lucius smirked to see it. But the warm feeling inside him reminded him that the Debt was still there, and thinking about it still made him a little uncomfortable. At least Mr Potter was happy, though, so all was well for the moment. And if all he had to do for the boy was to eat breakfast in the garden, instead of seated at a proper dining table, then really there was nothing to worry about. His concerns of weeks before were slowing ebbing away, now seeing silly compared to the reality, as Draco's hunch was proving correct: Potter's character made him a much more pleasant house-guest than Voldemort! "It seems silly to sit cooped up in the dining room on such a lovely day," he went on, and then paused to eat some of his breakfast.

Narcissa continued the conversation by asking Harry, "have you seen the Daily Prophet yet?"

"Well, no, we only just got up," Harry murmured.

"We were otherwise occupied earlier this morning," Draco added, with a straight face. The confession did nothing to help the redness of Harry's face, much to the amusement of all the Malfoys. Lucius, his eyes twinkling, produced a copy for each of them, and told them not to stand on ceremony; reading at the breakfast table was quite acceptable now.

Draco looked shocked. "Father? Is this really you? I mean, eating in the garden? Reading at the table? You told me you would have been whipped! I would have been beaten!"

Lucius threw his head back and laughed. It was a glorious sound.

"Well, Draco, we both know just how well that approach worked. I confess when your mother suggested it I wondered if the house would fall done in protest, but I find I rather prefer being less uptight about things that really don't matter. Now, please, you read, I'll eat."

They spent a few minutes in companionable silence, doing as they were bid. Harry finished the article first.

"I see that the interview with Blaise survived intact," he remarked.

"Yes, I suspect it was a sop to Skeeter," Lucius answered. "Really, Cuffe did a good turn by us, though. He obviously took your request of not calling you 'saviour' to heart; and simply changing 'saviour' into 'hero' seems to have worked well. We'd missed that altogether. I'm glad he thought of it."

Harry smiled. It was amazing to get to see behind the sneering, pompous Lucius Malfoy façade and find that the man did have a heart after all. And a big one, at that. He was very generous with his praise. No doubt that got him a long way in wheeling and dealing, Harry thought. But perhaps that was unfair. Why not take the man at face value, especially if he was being so pleasant?

"It's a lovely photograph of you," Narcissa remarked. "I must see about getting some copies of it."

Harry went red once more, and Lucius smiled at his wife affectionately. "My love," he said, "you do say the most amazing things."

Narcissa smiled back. Her husband was happier than he had been in years, probably happier than she had known him since they left Hogwarts. At last the horrors of his narrow-minded father seemed to be falling away. The only decent things about Abraxus Malfoy, as far as Narcissa was concerned, were that he hadn't stood in her way of marrying Lucius, and then had the good timing to die of dragon pox before Draco was born, so that he couldn't pass on his bigotry another generation. Lucius was becoming like his grandfather, one of the old Malfoys: a genuine man, full of bonhomie and tact; a proper aristocrat. She could see the same winsome traits coming out in Draco; and, not for the first time, she felt very grateful that they had Harry. The Debt might be there, and Lucius had not entirely lost his fears about that; but they were receding, and Harry kept bringing out these lovely traits in her men at every turn.

-#-

Rita Skeeter was absolutely furious. She had written what she thought was a brilliant article, and that blankety blank blank no-good low-life Cuffe had edited it to death. True, he'd managed to get a photo, and a pretty good one too, but that hardly made up for what he'd done to her text. Hers! All hers! No-one ever touched her articles!

She stormed into his office, and was instantly hit by a silencing charm. Her fury reached hitherto unknown heights at this indignity; but Cuffe just told her to sit down (on a chair he conjured for the purpose) and shut up (as if she had a choice about that!).

When he thought she'd calmed a little, he removed the spell.

"You BASTARD!" she screamed. _Too early, _Cuffe thought. But he was stuck with it now, he had to brazen it out, he knew, as she continued, "you ripped the heart out of my article! What the HELL did you do that for?"

"Rita! Shut it! And what happened is three words: Lucius Sodding Malfoy."

"What did he threaten you with?" she asked, instantly spotting an interesting line and latching onto it like the seasoned gossip-monger that she was.

"Never you mind. But at the moment he and the Ministry are working together on this, so you know we have no chance if we want to ever get more on Potter. Wiggleswade has already been given another interview, he talked to Potter yesterday about Volde–"

"BORING!" Rita said, speaking over the top of her boss. "And for this, you emasculate my prose? You even changed 'our Saviour needs his sleep', I was proud of that line!"

"It's not like you're writing great literature here!" he yelled in reply. "And Potter doesn't want to be called the 'Saviour' any more."

Rita looked dumbfounded. She knew he was publicity-shy, but really? Refusing such a title? "Why the hell not?" she asked.

"God knows," he replied. "He gave me some crap about it's not him, it's how everybody works together, blah, blah, blah, sanctimonious bullshit. Could have come straight from Scrimgeour. I thought you told me he didn't want to be the Ministry spokesman?"

"He doesn't," she replied. "Maybe he actually believes it."

The look on the Editor-in-Chief's face was priceless. But he pulled himself together. "He can believe anything he wants, I suppose. Perk of being the bloody boy-who-didn't-die-twice. Meanwhile we daren't stir up wizardry against him. Not openly, anyway. Why don't you see if you can dig up some more dirt? That Parkinson girl should be good for something. Go off and become her chum."

Rita grinned, evilly. She didn't need advice on how to do her job, but she could see how to put the knife in. Cuffe had told her to make friends; that made the inevitable bar tab a legitimate excuse …

He really did make things too easy for her sometimes, she mused. But then, she was a sensationalist journalist who took pride in a long heritage of milking everyone she met for all they were worth.

-#-

Kingsley Shacklebolt was worried. He was quite happy with the turn of events at Malfoy Manor yesterday; but nonetheless, there was still plenty to concern him. He didn't believe that Skeeter would take the affront to her journalistic pride lying down; so he had sent word through the Ministry network of informers and helpers to ensure that whatever she did, he was told about it. And they had not had any word of Yaxley; he still did not know what he was up to. He only hoped Harry was right about his plans.

And there was Crockford to consider. The healers had discovered that he, like Thicknesse, had been under a very deep, undetectable form of the Imperius curse. Harry's 'Signum Revelare' charm had now been used by the healers on all of the Aurors to see if they could discover whether anyone else was a hidden death eater. But somehow, the charm didn't seem as effective as when Harry had used it. One old witch had been positively identified; but as she had had quite a bit to do with Thicknesse and had been all but pensioned off anyway, they simply talked her into retiring for good. Since there was no evidence of criminal activity, and having the Dark Mark was not sufficient proof, it would have been hard for them to take any further action, so this was probably the best possible outcome. There were a couple of people who the healers had suspected, but not been definite about; they had been put under very discreet surveillance. But it was not entirely satisfactory; and there was no real reason anyone could see why the charm was not particularly effective for anyone other than Harry. Kingsley wondered if this was just because Harry's magic was so strong, or whether there was something else at play.

And that idea worried him too. He knew about the Debt, of course; he was impressed at how Harry had managed to keep Skeeter away from the details, though others would look them up, of course; it wasn't going to stay secret forever. Skeeter was a sloppy journalist, but it would not be wise to rely on that. No, the worry was more that he felt there was something else there, something he couldn't quite put his finger on. That shield, it had been so strong; that must mean that his magic and Malfoy's were highly compatible. But how did it stay strong? He didn't believe the Debt was entirely responsible for that. But if not, then what?

However, he had to leave his musings. However much Harry was his friend, and despite how much he wanted to help him, however he could, he was still the Minister for Magic; he had a job to do, and that job demanded so much of his time. He sighed. Some days, he would give anything to be an Auror again, off on a case, worrying about one thing at a time, not having to answer a thousand questions on a hundred matters every time he walked into his office. At least he could draw some of the fire, he thought; he had insisted that Arthur stay home today, as he had had to work over the weekend. He sensed that Molly was getting a bit fed up with it; and he didn't blame her one bit. He had promised that he wouldn't let the Ministry take over Arthur's life; but Harry had needed the help over the last couple of days, and he knew Molly could see that. He hoped that making sure he was home today would smooth things between them.

-#-

Molly heard a strange little 'ding' and a loud cry of excitement as Arthur yelled "Molly!" from his 'Muggle-den', as his children called the isolation cell he had set up inside his garage, so that the magical energy of the Burrow did not interfere with his Muggle devices. _What is he up to now? _she wondered. He had been playing with Muggle technology for his whole life, and she'd put up with it; every now and then it turned out to be useful, and she could tell from his tone that this might just be one of those times.

As she entered the room, she was careful to place her wand in the grounding-box next to the door to keep its magic away from the 'electrickery' Arthur loved so much. As she did so, she was a little surprised that his wand was not there; but she didn't say anything. There was no point; she could see at a glance that her husband was too agitated to listen to anything that anyone sensible might say to him. No, he was sitting over the strange machine he called a kumputer, or whatever the word was, and all but bursting with excitement.

"What is it, Arthur?" she asked.

"I've done it, Molly!" he almost shrieked. "We've got email!"

"What?"

"It's like an owl, Molly, only you can send it across the world in seconds. Look, I've got a message from Ron!"

He pressed some buttons on his kumputer, and the bizarre contraption next to it roared into life, producing a piece of Muggle paper with writing on it. He handed it to her, and Molly took it, rather suspicious. It wasn't proper parchment, and the writing on it was very plain, not at all like a proper message written with ink and quill like she was used to … But all this was instantly forgotten as she read the words and knew instinctively that they had indeed been written by her youngest blood-son.

_Hi dad! _The message read. _So glad you've got email! Hermione's dad let me type this on his computer, it's brilliant! You'd love their house; it's full of every possible Muggle device! Hermione managed to give them their memories back and everything. It took a lot of explaining, but eventually they've forgiven her and all five of us are returning to England together. Yes, five! Hermione has a little sister called Miriam! She's just two months old and she's absolutely gorgeous! The muggle doctors have said that she's allowed to fly now, so we've all booked tickets to come back leaving here on the nineteenth of June and arriving in England on the twentieth. Tell Harry – no, actually, I'll send him a separate email. Hermione's mum was a bit teary at the thought of leaving Australia, and having to pack up the house and everything, so we told her magic would make the packing up easy at least._

_Tell mum hi! We're loving it here, even though it's autumn the weather is lovely and we've even been to the beach. Miriam has to be slathered in sunscreen and wear this funny coloured paste on her face, called zinc cream, because she's even fairer skinned than Hermione! It's brilliant, you can get it in lots of colours, and it stops the sun burning her nose at all. And even with all this stuff on, they insist on her being in the shade the whole time! H's parents insisted on us being covered in sunscreen too, even though we told them a protection charm would work just as well. _

The message prattled on in this vein, with details about the trip and the house they were living in, and asking about everyone, with special greetings for each sibling.

"It's lovely," Molly sighed. "It's almost like he was here; I can hear him saying it."

Arthur agreed; he knew just what she meant. "What would you like to say in reply?" he asked.

"Reply?" Molly said, puzzled. "OH! You mean we can send a – what was it? He-mail?"

"Email," Arthur corrected, chuckling.

"Whatever. You can send one back to him?"

"Of course!" Arthur said. "What would be the good of messages only going one way?"

Molly was so taken by the idea that she could send a reply that she insisted then and there that Arthur teach her how to do it. He chuckled and set her down in the seat in front of the computer, then, to her surprise, fetched her wand.

"I've worked out how to do a little magic that works with the computer," he said, affecting modesty; but Molly knew this was a major thing. He had been working on trying to integrate Muggle ways and magical ones for most of their married life; it seems he now, at last, had achieved success.

"Really? Show me," she said, her voice projecting excitement and encouragement. He pretended he didn't care what other people thought of his love of things Muggle; but she knew that he took it very personally if his obsession was criticised, so she was always careful to be positive about it whenever she could. And the smile on his face that her words elicited was priceless to her.

Arthur puffed up with pride, buoyed by the simple words. "It's taken nearly fifteen years of tinkering, but I've finally worked out what you have to do to get magic to work with electricity! You have to be very careful with the way you cast spells; our normal spells leak out a certain amount of extra magic which interacts with the electrical field, but …" Molly tuned out at this point. It was a big deal, she understood that. And she was very proud of him that he was the one who had worked it out. But that didn't mean she was going to understand a word of the details; so she smiled and nodded and let him burble away happily.

After his explanation, he spent the next hour teaching her the spells, which involved intricate wand work and some magic that she had never heard of; Arthur tried to explain it, something about an 'inverted phase signature' that she simply could not follow; but it didn't matter. In the end, she mastered the spells, and using the strange new _Dictato _incantation that she suspected he had originated, found that her spoken words were transcribed onto the computer screen, just like automatic writing with a quill. It wasn't an entirely reliable process yet: the magic and the electricity would still give out sparks if she wasn't careful enough; but even so, twenty minutes later she had dictated a five page resume of everything that had happened since they left. Arthur wondered what Ron would think about such a huge message; but there was an easy way to find out, he decided: he pressed the 'send' button.

"Oh no!" Molly said, dismayed as her long message vanished off the screen. "It's all gone!"

Arthur chuckled. "Yes, it's been sent to Ron, dear! Oh, and look, there's another email from him. Oh, hang on, it's for Harry."

"How can you tell?" Molly asked.

"He's given it a subject, to tell us what's in it; and it says 'For Harry'," Arthur replied simply, as he opened the email and printed it out. "Let's get this off to him."

He placed the print-out in an envelope and went off in search of an owl to send the whole thing to Harry.

Molly smiled as she watched him go. Her mother had warned her that the Weasleys were simple people, and Aunt Muriel had been very vocal on the subject: Molly was a Prewett, Muriel had insisted, she could have a hundred better men. But she hadn't wanted a better man: Arthur, to her, was perfect. What they had called 'simple' was, to her, warm, and uncomplicated. She loved her man devotedly; he might be the Deputy Minister, but he was still that loving man she had married. He had simple pleasures, it was true; but he was so honest and straightforward about them that she couldn't help but be swept up in his enthusiasm. And his love for all things Muggle seemed to now fit with the times; perhaps, she thought, the truth was that he was ahead of everyone else, and it was the rest of them catching up to him.

The computer dinged again, but she had no idea what to do about it, so decided it was time to retreat to the kitchen. Arthur would no doubt be coming in search of a cup of tea soon enough. When she got to her domain, she found that Ginny had beaten her to it: the kettle had just boiled, and a fresh pot was brewing nicely.

"Oh thank you, Gin, I was just coming to do that."

"That's a pleasure, mum," the younger witch answered. "Um, mum … we need to talk …"

-#-

Once they had finished breakfast, a house-elf appeared with a stack of mail for Lucius. He grimaced as he read the first couple; he seemed to tune out for a minute, and then shook his head as he seemed to come to a decision.

"Draco, would you spare me an hour? There are some accounts here I'd like to walk you through. It's about time we got you introduced to the business of running the Manor."

"Of course, father," Draco said, rather in the manner of a prisoner invited to his own execution. Lucius laughed.

"It won't be that bad, I promise," he said, as he rose. Draco did too, with an apologetic look at Harry.

"I do apologise for stealing Draco, Harry," he said, but there was a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

"That's alright, as long as you leave me Narcissa, and don't keep him too long!" Harry rejoined, his tone and words answering the twinkle rather than Lucius's words. Lucius snorted, smiled, said "touché!" and the two Malfoy men went back to Lucius's study.

"More tea, Harry?" Narcissa asked.

"Yes thanks," he answered, and she poured him a cup.

"I'm glad to know that you see me as a suitable replacement for Draco, if only temporarily," she said teasingly. Harry began to apologise, but she smiled at him and assured him that she wasn't in the least offended.

"There is something I would like to discuss with you," he confessed. "I know that we've been keeping our plans for Friday and Saturday under wraps; but I did promise Draco I wouldn't keep secrets from him …"

Narcissa understood immediately. The poor boy had never grown up understanding about dealing with people properly; every secret had probably been destructive. How could he know how to deal with normal, loving secrets? She decided she should probably give him more or less the same talk Draco had had when he was six.

"Harry," she began gently, "you need to learn about secrets. There are two types of secrets: good secrets and bad secrets. We tell our children that good secrets make you happy; bad secrets make you sad. You're keeping our ideas for your dinner and the party a secret because that makes you happy, knowing that when Draco finds out, he'll be absolutely delighted. You're not planning on keeping them secret forever, just till the time when he'll be most happy. That sort of secret, a good secret, is essential in a relationship; you keep it because Draco is special to you, and you want to give him a lovely surprise. But if knowing it would be a nasty surprise, that's a bad secret, you shouldn't keep that. He needs to know that nothing nasty will suddenly surprise him that you knew about beforehand; but he doesn't need to know the nice surprises until the right time. Does that help?"

"Very much," Harry agreed. He was, once again, amazed at this woman, who was a better mother to him than his aunt had ever been.

-#-

Molly and Ginny took their cups of tea into the front room together. Molly's mind was racing; they needed to talk, Gin had said. _Oh Merlin, she doesn't mean …_

"What's up Ginny?" she asked, trying to keep her voice calm. Her daughter blushed bright red, and Molly feared the worst. "Are you … pregnant?" she asked.

Ginny look shocked for a second, then relaxed, her face visibly cooling down as the blush faded. "No! Mother!" She decided, now that her mother had jumped to the wrong conclusion, she would have a much better chance, so pressed on immediately, "Robin and I have been talking about things, and he would like to court me; but he wants to do it the Continental way."

Molly looked puzzled. "The Continental way? What is that? And why would he want to?"

"He was brought up in Germany, remember? He explained that the fashion now, if two magicals love each other, is to live together for a little while, to see if they are compatible. So he's asked me if I would move in with him."

During this speech, Arthur had come in, having sent off his owl, and now joined them, bringing the cup of tea that Molly had left in the kitchen for him. He caught the tail-end of the conversation; but he was not particularly surprised.

Molly turned to him. "Did you know about this, dear? Living together? It would never have happened in our day! What would Muriel think?"

Arthur sat down carefully, thinking hard about how best to keep the peace. He loved both his girls dearly, but they were both rather determined to get their own way, which made his life very … interesting … at times. And this was definitely one of those times.

"Did I know about what? Living together? Yes, it's definitely the done thing on the Continent these days. I take it Robin has asked you to?"

Ginny nodded.

"Well now. Your mother is right; it would never have happened in our day."

Ginny looked mutinous, but Arthur pressed on, "but that doesn't mean that it shouldn't. He's a lovely young man, and you'll be seventeen in August, when you can do what you like; it seems rather stupid to say no for the sake of two months because of old-fashioned ideas or old-fashioned relatives, don't you think, dear?"

The last question was aimed at Molly, who made a pretense of considering this carefully. In fact, she secretly admired Ginny's pluck in coming to her at all and had thought Arthur would demur. Now that he seemed to be happy, or at least comfortable, with the idea, she could acquiesce gracefully. Not that she wasn't going to try a little emotional blackmail anyway …

"Yes, I suppose, if you put it like that. He is a very nice young man, after all. All right, Ginny, if you insist on leaving us all alone here …"

But Ginevra Weasley had her mother's measure, and simply answered, with a sickly-sweet smile, "well, I wasn't going to insist, but if you really want me to …"

Molly laughed. "I'm glad to see my daughter is no push-over!" she said. "Even if I'm sad to see her using the skills I taught her against me! Now, you will both come to dinner every week, of course, won't you?"

And, to Ginny's very great relief, the conversation went on into the logistics of moving out and how it would all work. She had been dreading a huge fight with her parents; but apparently her six siblings had prepared them for this better than Ginny could have hoped.

-#-

After a very restful morning at the Manor, Harry and Draco spent the afternoon at Hogwarts. Draco had been very concerned about the article and possible feedback; and Harry became worried as everyone suddenly went quiet as they Flooed in for lunch. But then Neville had given them a wolf-whistle, and, after a few cat-calls, it was clear that the general feeling was a positive one. To be sure, Seamus still looked rather put out; but Harry felt sure he would get over it in time.

And there was not really any time for animosity to be expressed after lunch: now that the Eighth Year Tower was complete, they returned to the Astronomy Tower and continued to repair the external stonework, now that the interior was quite safe and renovated, in company with Neville, Dean, Seamus, Pansy and Millicent. Four of these five, at least, were warm and friendly towards them, and Harry was filled with hope that, if the rest of the students were half as friendly, they might actually have a fun eighth year.

And so it was that they did not return to Grimmauld Place until after six o'clock. As they Flooed into the drawing room, Harry was rather taken aback to see the table; or rather, not to see it, as it was entirely covered with letters.

"What's all this?" he wondered aloud.

Kreacher must have been listening out for them, for at this point he apparated into the room. "Master Harry and Master Draco are being receiving hundreds of owls," he said, by way of explanation. "Nasty persons is even sending Master Draco howlers, but Kreacher destroyed them," he said, proudly.

Harry groaned. He should have known: it was simply too much to hope that everyone would approve. But on the other hand, if Kreacher had destroyed the howlers, it meant they didn't have to deal with them.

"I suppose we should look at these …" he said, his voice despairing.

"Harry," Draco chuckled, "have you never heard of magic?"

And with that he cast some incantations that swiftly sorted the letters into two files, each containing four piles.

"These are your letters, these are mine," he said, pointing to each file in turn. "The first pile is from people you actually know; the other three are from strangers. The second pile is positive, the third negative or neutral, and the last might actually be interesting. Now, I suggest we send the letters in the second and third piles back to sender, with a polite, or not so polite, message."

Harry readily agreed, and Draco cast a quick charm; four of the piles vanished. Draco picked up Harry's 'from known contacts' pile and handed it to him, then picked up his own, much smaller pile. To his surprise, the first letter he came across was from Arthur Weasley.

"Here's a letter from Mr Weasley," he said as he opened it. "I wonder what he could want?"

"Dunno," Harry said. "What does it say?"

Draco read the letter out loud; it was short and to the point: _'some members of the Wizengamot have expressed concern that you might not be being supervised properly by Mr Potter', _Arthur wrote, _'so I'd like to suggest we meet on Thursday mornings; not that I have any such concerns, just to keep in touch and make sure the members feel comfortable."_

"That sounds like a great idea," Harry said.

Draco agreed. It couldn't be a bad thing that the Deputy Minister for Magic was taking a personal interest in him!

Harry skimmed his mail and found that he too had a letter from Arthur, which he proceeded to open.

"Oh!" he exclaimed. "It's from Ron and Hermione! Ron's sent an email!"

"A what? And what do they have to say?" Draco enquired.

"An email – it's a Muggle sort of message. Like an owl, only it's much quicker. I wonder how Arthur got it … Anyway, there's lots of news here," he said, and proceeded to read out all about the trip, and Hermione's parents and new sister, and that they were all coming home together.

"Wow," he said; then, being Harry, wondered aloud if they had enough money for the extra ticket. But then he read on.

_Hermione's parents were gobsmacked that you'd paid for their tickets, Harry. They don't really need it, they said, and there's no problem with Miriam's ticket either, so don't worry. _"Too late," Draco murmured softly as Harry read this bit out; which made Harry blush at how well Ron knew him.

There was a bit more, but it was personal; so personal that Harry didn't want to share it with Draco. Not yet, anyway. It was, he decided, a good secret. It was certainly good to know that Ron and Hermione approved of his decision and, even though they didn't know his plans, didn't mind him going ahead without them. Which was just as well, really.

Harry was **really** looking forward to the weekend now.

-#-

_**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **Grateful thanks as always to Bicky Monster for all their help. Particular patience was called for this time, and you came through briliiantly!  
_

**_** FACEBOOK ** In a blatant attempt to steal ideas from you all, I've set up a page called 'Achilles The Geek', feel free to 'like' it.  
_**

___You can also find this story on archiveofourown dot org._

_Thanks to all who are following and favoriting! Gives me a lovely warm feeling that you're interested. And double thanks with treacle tart to those who review.  
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_Seriously, reviews are much appreciated. _

_****__Replies: __I do reply individually, but I also feel you should be acknowledged (and maybe other people want to know my answers to your questions too!). Please do log in to comment, I enjoy responding individually._

_**helen:** sorry, not so fast this time! But chapter 31 is nearly finished._

_**KillJoy7772**: Thanks! I'm enjoying the Malfoys too. Blaise ... ah, Blaise ... I have plans for Blaise. [evil laugh]  
- "How is Rita going to deal with the rewritten article?" Not well, apparently!  
- "Are Draco and Harry going to talk about their nightmares?" Yes, but not just yet.  
- "How are Ron and Hermione?" Funny you should ask ...  
- "A long review for a long, lovely chapter." Indeed. How kind!_

_ **IamACritic** Thanks! _

_**MirrorFlower and DarkWind** The Durselys will take a back seat for the next few chapters, but I have not forgotten them._

_**sara** Thanks! Really, Harry now three families: Andromeda+Teddy, Malfoys, Weasleys. And there will be a combined celebration soon ..._


	31. Many Happy Returns

**_AUTHOR'S NOTE: _**

**_WARNING! _**_Here be slash!__ Yes, between them. Yes, that. _

* * *

**31 Many Happy Returns**

_Tuesday, 2 June 1998_

Harry decided that he quite enjoyed not working every morning; so over breakfast on Tuesday morning he suggested that they pay Andromeda and Teddy a visit. Draco was delighted with the idea, and Floo-called his aunt once they had finished their pancakes.

"How lovely!" she replied. "I have to go to Diagon Alley this morning, perhaps you could come with me?

Draco wasn't sure about this; Diagon Alley was still a bit daunting for a wizard who had been attacked murderously twice in public. But he wasn't going to let that stop Harry going if that was what he wanted; if necessary, he could stay at Andromeda's house and mind Teddy for them, he thought, as Harry went to fetch one of the Aurors at the front step to accompany them.

Draco had Flooed through before Harry got back to the drawing room, so it was only when they were both there and Andromeda had bustled out to the kitchen to make the inevitable cups of tea that he discovered that the Auror with them was Robin Banks. This firmed his resolve. He knew Robin liked children, he'd heard all about him having lots of cousins from Harry when the silly name had been explained; and he liked the Auror a great deal and would welcome the chance to get to know him better. So he asked Robin if it was possible for them to stay with Teddy and send the other two off to Diagon Alley.

"That sounds like a wonderful idea," Robin said warmly. "I'd love to get to know Teddy better; and you as well. We will need another Auror for Harry, though. Hang on a minute." He turned to Harry, and explained the plan, which Harry agreed with readily, the more so when he discovered that it was Draco's idea. Harry called Kreacher, and asked him to go and ask the other Auror on duty to come through the Floo. He was not surprised when it was Toby Proudfoot who stepped through; it made sense that Aurors had particular partners, so that he and Robin would generally work together.

At this point, Andromeda reappeared, to discover the two additional men.

"I'm sorry, Robin, Toby, I rather forgot there would be Aurors," she said. "Can I get you some tea?"

"Thank you, ma'am," they said, rather gobsmacked that she had remembered their names.

-#-

Once they had finished their tea, Andromeda, Harry and Toby apparated to Diagon Alley, where they had a brief consultation about how they would spend their time. Andromeda told Harry she wanted to visit Twilfitt and Tattings as she had an important engagement on Saturday, which put a smirk on his face; he said he would visit Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, then, as he needed to have a word with George.

He was still smiling as he walked in the door. Fred was standing at the counter, and George was busy moving stock into the shop from the back room. He looked up as Harry entered, and grinned. Harry was already happy; a good start to the morning.

"Hey little brother!" George called out to him. "Nice to see a smile!"

Harry grinned even more broadly in return. "Hey, yourself!" he replied. "Though I hear straw is cheaper …"

Fred groaned at the hoary old joke, and Harry ignored him.

"Anyway, is Neville around? I was hoping for a word with the two of you."

"I'm here!" a voice called from outside the back of the shop, and Neville walked in, carrying some of his coloured bell flowers. "Special order," he said, by way of explanation. "Shall we go on up?"

-#-

Harry was amazed at how clean the twins' living quarters were; of course, his own were always perfectly clean, but he had a house-elf to do that for him. He mentioned this, and George smirked, saying "we may not have a house-elf, but we have a house-Neville."

Neville blushed, and then thumped his fiancé. Harry made a mental note not to get on the wrong side of Neville; his right hook looked particularly dangerous.

They sat down together, and Harry declined a cup of tea, having just had one; but he found soon after that he rather regretted doing so, as it meant he had nothing to distract him. He wanted to talk to George and Neville about some rather … personal … matters, and he would have been glad of something to distract him. Something, other than them, to focus on.

But he was there now, he decided; he had their undivided attention; and he wasn't going to bottle out. And so he began …

An hour later, his face only just beginning to cool down from blushing the whole time, he left the shop, having received all the advice he had wanted, and more. Neville had promised to get him all that he would require, and George had produced some toys, for mature wizards only, that weren't on public display. He agreed to come by on Thursday morning to pick everything up; that way, he could smuggle things into the house without Draco finding out.

He made a couple more stops in Diagon Alley, then went to see if Andromeda was still at Twilfitt and Tattings. She was; she explained that she had got way-laid at the baby-wear shop, having spotted some irresistibly cute baby clothes in the window. "But I'm glad you're here now, you can give me your opinion."

It took another twenty minutes before they got out of the shop (or, in Harry's thoughts, escaped); they met up with Toby Proudfoot again at Fortescue's before returning to Andromeda's house with a tub of ice-cream that Floriana insisted on giving them. To Harry and Draco's disappointment, Andromeda insisted on feeding them all lunch before they were allowed any ice-cream. Draco huffed about 'aunts being worse than mothers', but Andromeda merely laughed and replied that she certainly was.

-#-

They spent a happy afternoon at Hogwarts. By now, the major work being completed, they found themselves repairing tapestries, fixing up suits of armour, and generally working on the interior furnishings of the castle to bring them back to standard. Harry loved it; and Draco seemed to have a real flair for the work. His efforts received praise from everyone who looked at them, and while he received it with the coolness that befitted a Malfoy, Harry could tell that secretly he was chuffed.

The only downer was that Blaise was not there; it occurred to Draco that he hadn't been there on Monday either. He asked around, but even Pansy didn't know what the Italian was up to. It was strange; Blaise was normally in on anything they were doing together.

Returning home, they found another huge pile of mail awaiting them; but once more, Draco's sort-and-return-to-sender spells got rid of most of it. Kreacher reported that there had been many more howlers; but since they weren't home to hear them yell, and the house-elf seemed to quite enjoy setting fire to them, they didn't really mind. Harry did hope that the flood would die down soon; he hated that people thought he was public property and wrote to criticise his life. They should try living it, he thought.

-#-

It came as no surprise to Harry that Draco asked if they could spend the whole day at Hogwarts on the Wednesday. What did come as a surprise was when, over lunch, Angelina Johnson sat next to the blond.

"Draco," she said, "I've been watching you and Harry, and I've decided that you do deserve trust."

Draco blanched a little. _Nothing like the direct approach, _he thought. "Thank you," he said, affecting a calmness that fooled no-one.

"And I wanted to ask you if you would teach me how to do the spells you cast," she continued.

Draco went very red. Teaching Harry renovation spells was one thing. They were, after all, already close; it wasn't too hard to teach him as he already knew how to relate to him. But for someone else to actually ask him to do so, someone who didn't have any reason to trust him, that was something that touched him deeply, and he agreed at once.

By the end of the day, Angelina was being praised to the skies for the new-found quality of her spell work; and Draco was as proud as a peacock of his new student.

-#-

_Thursday, 3 June 1998_

Draco was quite nervous at the thought of meeting with the Deputy Minister. His confidence had not been helped by some of the 'interesting' letters that he had received the previous evening: they had been rather more negative than he would have liked. He wondered if perhaps some of the 'negative' writers had worked out what was going on and had rewritten their letters accordingly. He would, he decided, have to revisit the spell. He really didn't need people asking him if he agreed that former Death Eaters who flaunted themselves in public might not have brought attacks on themselves, nor wondering if it really was appropriate for the Ministry to take an interest on people who had shown they had nothing but contempt for society. He'd simply burnt those letters, and sent the ashes as his reply; but it was probably a pointless gesture.

Harry was getting quite exasperated; Draco had spent nearly an hour choosing the right robes, after all.

"Really, Draco, it doesn't matter. I bet Arthur won't even notice!" he insisted.

"Maybe not," the blond countered, "but I will know!"

In the end, Harry got him to the Ministry for ten o'clock, and even then at the last minute he would only go if Harry went with him. But if Draco had expected Harry to stay with him, he was disappointed; once they had Flooed in to Arthur's office, Harry bid them farewell, and Flooed out to the Leaky Cauldron before Draco could say a word.

"Draco, lovely to see you," Arthur began gently. He could see how nervous the younger wizard was, so smiled at him encouragingly and lead him over to the comfortable chairs around his coffee table, on which were waiting a tea service and a large pile of pastries. "Can I get you some coffee? Tea?"

Draco's eyes lit up as he saw the pastries; Arthur clearly had his measure! Trust a Weasley to understand food, he supposed. He happily accepted a cup of coffee, which he loaded with sugar; while he generally preferred tea, he had to admit that sweet coffee and sweeter pastries was a wonderful combination.

Arthur began by discussing the renovations at Hogwarts; it seemed that Fred and Angelina had been for dinner at the Burrow the previous evening, so he had heard all about the spells he had taught her. "She seemed very enthusiastic about your teaching, Draco; is that a career you might consider?"

Draco was taken aback, wondering if the Deputy Minister was trying to steer him into it. But Arthur's face didn't look at all manipulative; he seemed to be genuinely interested in what Draco had to say.

"I haven't thought about that at all," he replied honestly. "What I would like to do is to get a Mastery in Potions; though as a former Death Eater I can't imagine anyone would take me on as an apprentice," he finished sadly.

"An _acquitted _former Death Eater," Arthur insisted. "Not all Masters out there are prejudiced against the Dark, you know. After all, Dark wizards have contributed a lot to our potions knowledge. I rather gather that Libatius Borage might be interested in taking on an apprentice next year; would you like me to have a word with him?"

Draco smiled. He well understood the value of patronage. "Thank you, Arthur," -he'd nearly said 'sir', but remembered Arthur didn't like it just in time- "I would appreciate that very much."

"Right. So, you'll be studying potions then; and I should tell you that in discussions with Headmistress McGonagall we are looking at adding a new subject, to replace 'Muggle Studies', which would include its curriculum but also broaden it out to include material about our society and other wizarding societies as well."

"That's interesting," said Draco, more politely than honestly; "what would it be called?"

"Not decided yet; something like 'Studies of Society' I suspect. It will, however, be compulsory."

_Oh, _Draco thought. "I see."

Arthur chuckled. "Doesn't appeal to you, I can tell. I never liked the word 'compulsory' either. Well, we have to have some guidelines in place. Dumbledore was great in his way, but he's not there any more; and while what he did was instrumental in defeating Voldemort, we don't want to have trolls in the castle again, or students left to their own devices to solve adult problems. So, in agreement with the Headmistress, we will be trying to build a strong support structure for students, so they aren't left to their own devices as much as they have been in the last ten years or so."

Draco could see the sense in that; but there was a flip side: "but don't students need to learn how to be autonomous?"

"There, Draco," Arthur replied, "you have put your finger on the central problem of parenting. We need to be flexible and firm. We need to provide freedom and safety. It's a difficult balancing act, and we will need the eighth year students to help us get it established. So we will be relying on you, and the other returning students, to step up to a new level of maturity."

Draco wasn't sure he liked the sound of this. "What would that involve, exactly?"

Arthur looked thoughtful. "That's really up to the Hogwarts staff, I suppose. But I suspect they will want to instigate some sort of mentoring system. You know, have each eighth year responsible for a group of first years, something like that. Of course, the Ministry would expect you to be involved with that; we certainly won't put up with any 'no Death Eater will teach my child' nonsense, I assure you. No, Draco, we look on the eighth years as an integral part of this programme, and you are just as important to the success of this year as any other student."

Draco was rather stunned that so much was being expected of him and his peers, and took another pastry to avoid having to say anything in reply.

"Now," said Arthur, "another topic that will interest you: Theodore Nott."

Draco's ears pricked up. He certainly was interested in Theo. "Mmm?" he said, encouragingly, unable to say anything as his mouth was full of apple turnover.

"The Healers have confirmed that he was indeed under the Imperius curse, and he is recovering. It's a slow process, I'm afraid; he won't be ready for July and may not even make September. At the present, he, Crockford and Thicknesse are all in the same ward; apparently it's better to have them together, there's some improvement in healing when they are able to return to full health together. Well, as much as possible; as you know, Theo will never have full use of his arm again. Not that you should feel guilty about that;" – Draco did, and his face must have shown it – "it was Yaxley's fault, not yours or Harry's."

"Are you any closer to finding Yaxley?"

"Ah," said Arthur. He wondered how much Draco knew about the trap Harry had set up. "Have you and Harry discussed this?"

"Yes, he said something about setting up a 'honey-pot trap' at my birthday celebration." And then, astonishingly for a boy who had always been fixated on his birthday, he suddenly realised that it was the following day. "Which should be tomorrow! Have you set things up?"

"Yes," said Arthur, relieved that this wasn't a secret, "we have a comprehensive strategy in place, I assure you. You shouldn't have to worry about anything. Just enjoy the celebration, and we hope to surprise Yaxley and make the arrest early in the evening."

"Well, I'll try," Draco said, concerned. It was all very well that they hoped for surprise, but Draco had the uncomfortable feeling that he was the honey in this particular trap, which was not a pleasant thought at all. He returned to the subject of their studies, asking if the term dates had been decided.

"Yes," Arthur replied, retrieving a piece of parchment with dates written all over it from his desk, "let me see now … eighth year students will be moving into the Tower from the first of July; first term classes will be starting on Monday the sixth; there'll be ten weeks of teaching followed by a week of revision, which takes us to Friday the eighteenth of September. Then you'll have two weeks holiday, and then another term the same, starting on the fifth of October and finishing on the eighteenth of December. Next year," he said, turning over the page, "term three starts on the fourth of January and exam week starts on the twenty-second of February. So there you are, all decided. But of course you'll get a letter detailing all of this; was there anything in particular that you wanted to know?"

"Well, I wanted to know the holidays; I guess I'm hoping that Harry and I …" And at this point, Draco's confidence seemed to run out, and his voice trailed off.

Arthur smiled. Harry had had a chat about just this subject, quietly, on Sunday, and he knew exactly when Harry had in mind. In fact, Arthur had suggested the date to him. But clearly, Draco didn't suspect a thing about that, and Arthur was rather proud that he had managed to keep a Slytherin in the dark. But Draco was still floundering for words, and Arthur decided to help him out.

"… might need a date for a celebratory event?" he supplied.

"Um, yeah," Draco replied, not sure if he was getting too forward. He loved Harry so much; he wanted to be bonded to him legally, but he didn't really know Harry's thoughts. He knew that Harry's fears about the Debt were receding; so it helped if he knew what dates were in play.

"I think you might find the twenty-sixth of September is an appropriate date," Arthur said, with a twinkle. "But now! It's nearly lunch-time; I wonder where Harry has got to?"

And, as if on cue, the Floo roared into life, and Harry stepped through. He smiled at his lover.

"All done?" he asked.

"Yes, thanks, Harry," Arthur replied. "I think you'd better take Draco away and feed him a good lunch to help him get over the ramblings of an old man."

Draco snorted. "Thank you, Arthur, on the contrary, I've really enjoyed this chat. Um, were you planning on meeting regularly? Your owl made it sound like this was a permanent fixture."

"During June, I think it would be good to meet weekly, if Harry can spare you," Arthur replied. "Once we get to term-time, of course, things will be more complicated; but we can discuss that when we get there. Are you happy with that, Harry?" he asked, turning to his adopted son.

"That's fine, of course," Harry replied. "But I think I will take him off to lunch now."

-#-

They discussed where to go for lunch. Draco was rather distracted, so Harry suggested it might be a good idea to might duck into a restaurant for a quick meal, rather than bother with the trip home, or going to Hogwarts where there would be more people. But Draco was still rather shy of being seen in public, so in the event they went to Hogwarts for lunch. Harry could tell that there was something bothering the blond and as they sat down, Draco decided to come straight out with it.

"Well, guys, I hope you're getting me nice presents for tomorrow?"

"What's so special about tomorrow, Draco?" Neville asked, with a twinkle in his eye.

"Oh nothing," said Draco, affecting a modesty they all knew perfectly well he did not possess. "Just the small matter of my birthday. Am I having a party, Harry?"

The question was asked diffidently, apparently as an afterthought; but Harry knew perfectly well what his lover was fishing for. And he certainly wasn't about to give it to him.

"That depends, Draco," he answered; "have you organised one?"

Draco looked daggers at him. _Harry_ _had better have organised something_, the look said. "When would I have done that?" he asked.

"Don't know," Harry replied, piling chicken curry onto his plate. "When would I?"

Draco didn't really have anywhere to go after that; there was, of course, no reason why Harry should organise anything. On the other hand, Arthur had as good as promised that there was going to be a party …

While he was debating with himself, the conversation moved on to what they would be doing that afternoon, and he found himself kept busy the whole time from then on.

-#-

_Friday, 5 June 1998_

Draco Malfoy was very unhappy. Harry had woken him with a lovely kiss, it was true, and said "happy birthday" very nicely. He had been served breakfast in bed, and it had been pancakes, and they had fed each other, and it was very enjoyable, even if Harry did have to perform cleaning charms on the bed sheets. But it wasn't a present.

Harry had got his robes ready for him, and run him a bath, and let him take an hour over his grooming without whinging once. It was lovely. But it wasn't a present.

His mother had Floo-called to wish him a happy birthday from her and his father. They couldn't get his present to him just yet, it was too big to take from the Manor; so would he call tomorrow before they went to dinner at Molly's to collect it? Which was nice, and was at least the promise of a present. But, nonetheless, it was not a present.

Harry had asked him what he wanted to do that morning, and he'd immediately said "open presents". But apparently he wasn't allowed to do that. Nor, it seemed, was he allowed to go back to bed and sulk. Honestly! What was the point of asking him what he wanted to do if they weren't going to do it?

But eventually he decided that they had neglected their work on Grimmauld Place long enough, and they spent the morning happily on further renovations. By lunchtime, the ground and first floors were finished, leaving only the bedrooms and bathrooms upstairs needing more work.

"Excellent job," Harry said happily. "Thank you for your help."

"Of course. And just in time to have a party," Draco commented. "One with presents."

"We'll see," was all the reply he got, before they Flooed to Hogwarts for lunch.

-#-

At least at lunch he found that there was a cake waiting for him. It was a nice surprise. But it wasn't a present.

"I hope you have more surprises for me later," he said to Harry.

"Oh, I'm full of surprises," Harry replied, with a smirk.

-#-

Once they had finished at Hogwarts, they Flooed back to Grimmauld Place. Draco came out of the Floo, expecting to find a surprise party waiting for him in the drawing room, especially as Harry yelled, "surprise!"

But the house was empty.

"What's the surprise?" he asked.

"Well," said Harry, "this surprise is that there's no surprise. But I'm not out of surprises, not by a long chalk."

"What are we doing this evening?" Draco asked again, and Harry smirked at him. Again. But he still wasn't offering Draco a present.

"I'd like to take you to dinner," he said. "You'll want to wear some nice robes; you should find something suitable in your room."

They went upstairs to change. Draco entered 'his' room to find a new set of robes laid out on the bed. At last! A present! He put on the silver shirt and black dress pants, and looked in the mirror. If Harry had chosen these, the Gryffindor's taste in clothes had improved immeasurably. The robes were very simple and elegant, a no-nonsense very dark green. Draco smirked at this simple appropriation of Slytherin colours; it had his mother's touch written all over it, but the overall effect, he thought, was stunning.

"Do you like them?" he heard Harry ask, and the insecurity in his voice was palpable

"Harry," he said, coming out of the room, "they're …"

But whatever he was going to say was completely lost as his eyes met Harry, dressed in the new robes he had bought while Draco was at the Ministry the day before. The raven-head was wearing a beautiful peacock-blue shirt and black dress trousers, together with robes in the same dark green as his own, and the effect made Draco's mouth go completely dry.

"They're …?" Harry prompted.

"Never mind," said Draco, as he strode over to his lover and almost swallowed his lips in a kiss.

"Wow!" Harry said, once they had disengaged and some feeling had returned to his face. "That was amazing…"

"Well, what do you expect if you strut around looking drop-dead gorgeous?" the blond asked.

"Really?" Harry asked.

"Really." Draco answered. "Harry, I love both sets of robes."

"Thanks," Harry said, breathing a sigh of relief. "Your mother helped me choose them, but still…"

Draco smirked. His instincts had not betrayed him, it seemed.

"Well," he said, "where are we going?"

And now it was Harry's turn to smirk. "Well, to begin with," he said, then paused to maintain the suspense; "… the drawing room."

-#-

Harry managed to say the destination very quietly, so Draco didn't hear; so it came as a complete surprise when he came out of the Floo into a beautifully laid out reception area.

"Good evening, Monsieur," a tall elegant man, obviously the _maitre d'hôtel_, greeted him. "Mr Malfoy, I believe? Dining with Mr Potter?"

As their host said this, Harry fell out of the Floo – you couldn't put it any other way; and Draco, who understood well his lack of grace in Floo travelling, caught him without any sign of fuss, and if the _maitre d'hôtel_ noticed anything, he was far too polite to comment.

"Yes, thank you," Harry answered, not missing a beat.

"Excellent! Welcome, gentlemen. Your garden awaits."

"Garden?" Draco asked, comprehension beginning to dawn on his face.

"Yes, indeed," the _maitre d'_ said. "Welcome, Mr Malfoy, to _Le Jardin Magique_."

-#-

They were shown into their dining room. It took Draco's breath away; he was standing in a Japanese rock garden, modeled, he could see, on the Zen temple garden of Ryoan Ji, in Kyoto, Japan. He knew it from all of the research he had done before making his own garden at the Manor. It was arranged just as he had seen it often enough in pictures: a simple arrangement of a large rectangle of white gravel, with, he knew, fifteen weather-beaten stones inset in five groups. Around the back, a low wall ran, with a tiled roof on top; and above the roof he could see cherry blossom.

It was beautiful. Simply, starkly, beautiful. He turned to Harry and could tell at a glance that the raven-haired youth was very nervous. Draco simultaneously loved and hated this. He hated that Harry was so unsure of himself: he had done an amazing job to get this garden organised, and to keep it a secret until now. And he loved it that Harry didn't take Draco's response for granted.

"Harry," he said at last, when he got his breathing under control, "it's beautiful."

"You think so?" Harry said, his voice teetering on the brink of relief. "You like it?"

"No," Draco said, "I love it."

-#-

Their dinner was exquisite. Even Draco, used to fine dining, was amazed at what the chef had been able to do with quails and truffles. They had chatted about the week gone, and the plans for the term; and Draco finally managed to wheedle out of Harry that there was going to be a celebration, tomorrow. As Draco knew that they were due at the Burrow for dinner, he guessed that it must be there. He would probably have preferred the Manor, but really, if Harry had gone to so much trouble to organise everything, he wasn't going to criticise.

Dessert was served under a cloche in the centre of the table. When Harry lifted it, there was a box underneath; the sides made of thin slabs of white chocolate, and filled with chocolate ganache, chocolate mousse, and a light strawberry cream, in layers. There were two spoons; and by unspoken consent, they fed each other. It was truly amazing; and by the time they had finished, and Harry had put the cloche back on top of the now sad-looking box, Draco felt very full and entirely satisfied.

He looked over the garden, trying hard to count all the stones; but he could only see fourteen. He remembered that you weren't supposed to see all fifteen unless you had achieved enlightenment, and explained this to his dining companion.

Harry chuckled. "Guess I'm just unenlightened, then."

Draco smiled in return, and they sat together in a comfortable silence for a few minutes, looking at the simple garden in front of them. Harry found, after a while, that its very simplicity gave it a beauty he hadn't expected. It was completely different from his cottage garden; but he could see why Draco loved it.

"Thank you, Harry," Draco said, softly, interrupting his thoughts.

"What for?" Harry asked, having an idea, but wanting to hear it from him.

"For everything. For organising this beautiful garden. And this incredible meal. For managing to keep it a secret."

"It was a good secret, right? Narcissa said that was all right…" Harry said, worry about keeping secrets in his voice.

"No, Harry, not all right; brilliant. Perfect. Yes, a good secret."

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. "That's not all," he said, and lifted the cloche. Underneath, instead of the remains of their dessert, there was a beautiful velvet-covered box. Harry picked it up and opened it, to reveal a platinum ring, inset with emeralds and diamonds.

"Draco, I know five weeks ago we were best enemies, and we've only been living together for two; but I also know that I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want to marry you, Draco. Will you be my husband?"

Draco could not speak. There were no words good enough, he decided; he took the ring and put it on his finger, then they both stood and rushed into each other's arms. Tears flowed freely as they each accepted the other's love, now both entirely certain in their own minds that this was what they really wanted.

And finally, Draco found his voice.

"Oh, yes, Harry!"

-#-

When they got back to Grimmauld Place, Draco wondered if there would be another surprise; a party there, perhaps? But no-one was waiting for them. The house was quiet; and only dimly lit. Draco wondered at this; the lamps usually gave plenty of strong light, but this was a different kind of light altogether, flickering, tentative.

All was explained when they reached their room. As he walked in, Draco found their bed surrounded by candles and strewn with rose-petals.

"Harry?" he asked.

"Draco," came the answer. "I was hoping … I've been wanting for a while ... would you make love to me?"

Draco looked at him. "Are you sure?" he asked. "I mean, I know how worried you are about the debt and everything; but that would be the best birthday present ever …"

"Well," said Harry, "I guess we just have to get used to the debt. So, I want to if you do."

In answer, Draco started to remove his robes, but this was too slow for Harry; with a simple wave of his hand, the robes went into their cupboards, and they were both standing naked beside the bed. Draco, filled in equal parts with admiration for Harry's magical strength and desire for his body, gave out a low moan, and moved him back onto the bed.

-#-

They lay together in bed, naked, and Draco touched him, caressed him, murmured sweet words into his ear, and Harry was swept away in the moment. He was grateful to George and Neville for their advice; he used the charms they had told him, and the necessary preparation. Draco was sweet and gentle, taking his time, making sure his lover was truly ready; and when his fingers entered Harry's body …

Oh Merlin! "Yes, Draco, yes!" he yelled, pleasure and desire running through his veins, filling him with an aching want to feel his lover inside him. And as they made love, he felt his magic reach out, swirling around him, and saw green tendrils reaching out, and silver bands of magic coming from Draco; and as they met, they seemed to be tied together with a thin red band. Then, as they came to completion, Harry felt all his angst about the Debt slip away, and an aching loneliness he had never known was there, because it always had been, slipped away with it, and he felt comforted and loved like never before as Draco's strong arms and hot body encompassed him, and for the first time in his life he surrendered fully to the love of another person.

There were no words, just cries without words. There were no distinct feelings, just a throb of love between them. It felt as if they weren't even really two any more: they had become a single organism, their hearts beating as one. Harry felt like he did when he was flying, that feeling of being totally free from the world, as if he had slipped out of time and space altogether, living in a moment, a bubble of freedom suspended on the edge of reality. He could no longer move; it was as though his bones were no longer solid, but now liquid. He felt the magic and the giddy freedom coursing through his veins, warming him, like liquid fire: nothing else could feel so hot. Draco held him close, caressing him, still making sounds, but Harry had no idea what they were. He knew what they meant, though: they were one. They now belonged to each other. He held Draco, their passion weaving them together as surely as their magic had.

Finally, after a minute, or an hour, or a day, who knew how long, Harry spoke.

"You're mine, Draco. I never want to let you go. I love you. Happy birthday."

And the blond, sated and spent, kissed him in agreement. "I am yours," he agreed, "and you are mine. Thank you for the most wonderful birthday ever. Sleep now, my love."

* * *

_**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **Grateful thanks as always to Bicky Monster for all their help. And for saying particularly nice things about this chapter!  
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_**IamACritic:** Thanks, as always!_

_**KillJoy7772:** Thank you for your kind words. You and MirrorFlower seem to want to do Rita in, but truly, she's very useful. Pansy is in no danger. Blaise ... ah Blaise ... I have plans for Blaise. I'm glad you were worried about Ginny, but only for a moment; I really enjoyed that little bit of teasing, but I decided not to make you wait for the resolution. As you can see, there's a lot going on in ch31 already without adding that. The Dursleys will return, but there are more important matters first. I have no idea what Rita is going to do, but she's about to have something a lot juicier to write about. Lucius is coming to terms with the Debt and finding that he actually quite enjoys the prestige that Harry gives him, and can work within the freedom. I haven't decided where that is going yet. The mail is still coming, but it's just getting read and dealt with. I thought it wasn't a big enough deal to write about, although some of it made its way into this chapter._

_**MirrorFlower and DarkWind:** You can't go killing off my characters like that! This is a romance, not a murder mystery! :^)_  
_(Mind you, that might be an idea ...) Glad you're enjoying it. Me too!_

_**sara:** So glad you're enjoying the story. Note that if you create a profile, you can subscribe, and then the system will send you an email when I upload a new chapter. Also, I can reply to your posts (I always do; if my lovely readers are good enough to get in touch, I think a reply is the least I can do in return)._


	32. Trouble Returns

**32 Trouble Returns **

_Saturday 6 June 1998_

Draco woke with the sun. He lay in bed, remembering the night they had had. He was still astonished at the love that had been lavished upon him. Harry had gone to so much trouble to plan the night, and every detail had been perfect. The robes were beautiful; chosen with such evident care and taste. The restaurant had been magnificent; the food, stunning; the garden, an inspired choice. Obviously his mother had shown him his garden at the Manor, and Harry had extrapolated brilliantly to make a garden that had taken his breath away. The ring was exquisite; he loved the stones, they were set so well, and the green emeralds reminded him so much of Harry's eyes. And then coming home, and candles and rose-petals and … Oh Merlin, Harry had asked him to make love to him, and he had thought his heart would explode. But in the end, it was something else that had exploded, and no other orgasm had ever been like it.

It had all been so personal. So obviously done with him, and him alone, in mind. How did he deserve to be so much the centre of Harry's thoughts?

But he still wasn't one of life's optimists, and the uncertainties began to raise their ugly heads again. The first set of thoughts was about control. Harry had organised the whole thing, without input from Draco at all. Was this what their life would be like? Was Harry going to dictate how everything worked? Was this the effect of the Debt on them, that Harry would be the boss, and Draco would just go along with everything, finding his life mapped out for him?

But even as the vague thoughts became clear ideas, he knew it was all rubbish. Harry had organised it all, yes; but he had sought input from his mother, who had kept the secret too. And that wasn't so they could control him; it was because they loved him. If Harry had wanted to control him, he would have been the one dominating in sex. But he had given that role to Draco. And it hadn't been an order; Harry had been nervous, diffident. He'd asked Draco to make love to him; and Draco hadn't obeyed an order so much as accepted an invitation. No, Harry wasn't trying to control him. He was trying to love him.

The other set of thoughts that came were angry thoughts. His mother had shown Harry **his** garden. She had advised on robes for him. She must have known Harry was planning to ask Draco to marry him, and she had kept the whole thing a secret. She and Harry had kept secrets from him, even after Harry had agreed they weren't going to do that.

But again, this was rubbish. Harry loved him. He was keeping good secrets. Secrets that meant Draco was loved, and blessed, and surprised in a wonderful way. And even then, Harry had seemed worried about having kept it a secret, not wanting to have broken his promise. His mother had shared his garden, but only once she knew how much Harry meant to him. And Harry had not used that knowledge to ridicule him, or wound him, as he had always been afraid would happen if any of his friends found out about the garden. He hadn't told the world about Draco's private obsession with Japanese rock gardens, or treated it lightly. On the contrary, he had taken it very seriously, and used the knowledge only to Draco's advantage. Only to create a private, special moment for them.

At the root of it all, Draco was still insecure. He knew that Harry wanted him. He knew that something had happened last night, and it wasn't just making love. He had felt his magic reaching out, seen silver and green and red wrapping together, and he had known it was special. But how special? Could he bet his happiness on it? His life? And what was the red band, anyway?

He told himself this was silly. Here he was, loved by the most wonderful wizard in the world. Instead of being reviled for his past, instead of being dead by Voldemort's curse, or kissed by a Dementor, or spending the rest of his life in Azkaban, here he was sharing his bed with the one he loved more than anyone else.

It wasn't that he wasn't grateful. Or that he didn't feel grateful. But why did he feel like it was all so precarious? That it could all go away in an instant?

-#-

Harry woke slowly, and his gorgeous green eyes bored into Draco's silver ones.

"You're thinking too much," he said, and reached over to kiss his lover. As he did, Draco felt a tingle go through his body, and he surrendered to the feeling of ecstasy that coursed through him.

"Oh, Harry, what did I do to deserve you?" he asked, when he had managed to draw breath.

"Draco," the answer came, the voice deep and quiet, "you don't have to do anything. I love you. That's it. I want you. Always. We're tied together by this," he said, holding the ring that was still on Draco's finger, "and more. By love, and by debt, and by magic, and by choice."

They lay together, cuddling, for a long while, and Draco felt courage returning and reassurance blossoming in his heart.

"Thank you so much," he said. Then, a little less soppily, "Harry, I read about _Le Jardin Magique._ It's supposed to be impossible to get into. How did you manage it? Come to that, how did you even think of it?"

"It was the day of Umbridge's trial," Harry replied. _And the day you were attacked by Flint _he didn't say, but they both knew it, and thought of it. "After she had been sentenced, Kingsley and Elphias Doge invited me to lunch, to thank me for the help I had given them. Not that I helped much …"

Draco snorted. Harry was too modest; Arthur had discussed this while they were at the Manor together and made it clear to Lucius and the two newspapermen that Harry's advice was instrumental in helping the Wizengamot see its way clear to justice being done, a fact that Dempster Wiggleswade had noted down, in case a follow-up article was ever required.

Harry, oblivious of Draco's thoughts, continued, "So we had lunch at _Le Jardin Magique, _and the _maitre d'hotel _came and asked if everything was to our satisfaction … and I realised that it wasn't. Draco, after that day, after Umbridge was gone, after the Chief Warlock has praised me to the skies, and the Minister had expressed his delight, I realised that I didn't care about any of that. I just wanted one thing. I wanted you there. So I asked if I could come back, with you, last night; he seemed to be delighted. I hadn't realised it was hard to get in …"

_I bet he was delighted, _Draco thought, rather sourly, _to be asked to host the hero of the wizarding world._ But there was no reason to feel aggrieved; there hadn't been any press coverage, or awkward questions, so perhaps the man was simply happy to do what he could for a customer.

"And," Harry continued, "I decided then and there I wanted to propose to you on your birthday. I wrote a letter to Narcissa on the spot, asking for her help; I didn't think I could tell her to her face to begin with, I couldn't have got the words out. I'm sorry to have told her but have kept it from you, but I felt I needed some advice. And she was the best person to go to. As it happened, I didn't get to owl the note, but slipped it to Blaise, and he took it to your mother that afternoon while I was comforting you here."

"I'm glad you told her, Harry," Draco decided. "She helped you do a wonderful thing, and now you know that she is prepared to be on your side, and keep our secrets. I was sure of that; but it's good that you know it too. So, she knows that we're engaged?"

"Well, not exactly," Harry said. "I mean, she knows that I was going to ask you, and that's why you didn't get a party – and you will get one tonight, I promise, but you have to act all surprised, all right?"

Draco laughed. He didn't think that would be a problem. And if his parents suspected anything, they would be too overjoyed to see the ring on his fingers to comment. After all, his mother would have to hide that she knew beforehand, she wouldn't want him to know that she had known. Of course, he did know that she knew, but she didn't know that he knew that she knew; unless Harry told her. Which he should do something about, he decided, his complicated Slytherin thoughts finally resolving into action.

"I'll try, Harry. But you can't tell my mother that you told me she knew, all right?"

Harry didn't know, and probably wouldn't have understood, the intricate reasoning behind this request; but he didn't need to.

"Sure," he replied.

-#-

Eventually they had to get up. Harry would gladly have stayed there all day; especially as he could feel Draco's uncertainty, and he just wanted to lie with him, and stroke it all away, and let his lover know that it was all going to be all right. For perhaps the first time in his life, he had no doubt at all that he was exactly where he wanted to be, with the person he wanted to be with; indeed, the person who he wanted to be with for the rest of his life.

But they had to get on with things. So, reluctantly, they went through the morning rituals of bathing and dressing. As they walked downstairs to the kitchen, they stopped at the drawing room; Harry suggested that they should let their mothers know the happy news straight away, and Draco agreed.

Which is why the Floo in Narcissa's study erupted into life just before eight o'clock, and Mappy rushed off to find his mistress, convinced, by the urgency in Draco's voice, that some great disaster had befallen. Narcissa walked into her study and a single glance at the image of her son's face in the fireplace told her everything.

Draco, without a word, held up his hand to show her the ring on his finger. She smiled; it was a huge, warm, genuine smile that involved her whole face. "Congratulations, darling," she said. "May I come through?"

In answer, he retreated from the fireplace, inviting her with a gesture. She threw in a pinch of Floo powder and went over to Grimmauld Place, stepping out of Floo and into her son's arms. Harry enveloped them both, then made his own call, and in a very few minutes, Molly Weasley was there, hugging them both too and crying tears of joy.

-#-

After admiring the ring, the mothers pleaded that they had to get back to their families; Draco wasn't quite sure he believed this from his mother, but she explained that the call had come while she was at the breakfast table, and Lucius would become anxious if she didn't return soon.

"Don't forget, you have to come and fetch your present before you go to the Burrow this evening," she reminded them. "It should be ready by half-past five, so come then, or just a little earlier if you can spare the time."

"Do we really have to have the party at the Burrow?" Draco whined.

"Dragon!" his mother said, sternly. She'd never put up with him whining at her, and she wasn't about to just because he was an adult, nor because it was his birthday party. "You know that Saturday nights are at the Burrow, you agreed to that, and you should be grateful that the Weasleys are being so accommodating!"

Draco looked abashed. "Sorry, mother," he said. "Mrs Weasley – Molly - my apologies. Mother is right; I'm very grateful to you for hosting my party at the Burrow."

"Of course, dear," Molly replied. "No harm done. We'll be delighted to see you, and I'm sure everyone will have a wonderful time."

"But you will come to the Manor first? And we'll Floo to the Burrow with you once we've given you your present," Narcissa added.

"We'll be there, Narcissa," Harry promised.

-#-

Lucius Malfoy was having a very good morning. The plans for the party were well in hand; of course they would be, Narcissa was involved, but of course this party was rather more important than usual. Mappy's entry had made it quite clear that the developments Narcissa had been expecting were progressing nicely. Not that she'd said anything about it to him, but he'd been married to the woman for over twenty years and he knew how to read the signs. The boys had got engaged last night, or he was a Hippogriff.

His mind turned to the other matters in front of him. Over the three weeks since his trial, he had been working with the Ministry to help with reparations, in a very direct way: Malfoy money was being used to rebuild the homes of wizards and witches who had been dispossessed by the Dark Lord. He was doing it quietly; Kingsley had been concerned that the money might be refused if people knew where it came from. That had stung his pride; but he couldn't fault the logic. And he was discovering that a little altruism was in fact good for the soul; something of Harry Potter's Gryffindorishness was rubbing off on him, and to his surprise he was finding it felt quite good.

He had also been working through Muggle builders, seeking to help where-ever the Death Eaters had attacked. But this was a little less altruistic; he was putting out feelers, looking for a man. A man he suspected worked, if not in the building trade, then in some allied industry. He wasn't sure quite why he suspected this; but his intuition for such things was generally spot on. He couldn't imagine the man would work in an industry that required brains or charm; no, it had to be some sales role or supply company for building or perhaps those horrible motor things the Muggles used.

And this morning he had hit paydirt. He had found the company; and its board had last night recommended his offer to its owners. By Monday, he could have it in his grasp.

Yes, a very good morning.

-#-

It was eight o'clock in the evening in Sydney before Ron got around to checking his email. There was, as usual, an email from his father; at least, it came from his father's email address, but he was pretty sure that his mother would have written it. Molly had really taken to sending him email; it was lovely to have the connection back to his family, though he did rather wish she could keep her letters a bit shorter. After all, she should have twigged after eighteen years that reading wasn't really his thing.

Not that it mattered much; he simply printed the emails out, skimmed them, and handed them to Hermione, knowing that his fiancée would read every word and then make sure he knew everything of importance in them. He'd managed so far to keep to the pretence that he too had read assiduously; but if Hermione believed that, she didn't know him well either. In fact, Hermione knew her man quite well; she knew he hadn't read carefully. But she was happy to make a point of discussing everything in the emails with Ron and her parents; and she could see that her parents loved to hear news from the old country, and news about Ron's folk. It was helping them all to feel like one big happy family.

But this email was different. This time, it actually was from Arthur; this time, there weren't too many words; and this time he did read every one of them.

"OI! Hermione!" he yelled. "Come quick!"

"What is it?" she replied, rushing into her father's study.

"It's Harry and Draco!" Ron replied. "They're engaged!"

-#-

Minerva McGonagall sat in her office, a smile twitching on her lips. After two weeks of negotiation, she finally had a Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor. She was very grateful to Filius Flitwick; it was his brilliant idea to write to old Professor Galatea Merrythought and ask her if she had any suggestions. Her reply had been crisp, and to the point, which had made Minerva smile; she and Galatea had always got on rather well as neither of them took any nonsense from anyone.

The reply had simply been to the effect that Galatea had taught her daughter everything she knew, and they wouldn't find a more competent candidate. So Minerva had set about trying to get hold of the younger Merrythought. She had had quite a time of it! The witch had pleaded age, and commitments to the Wizengamot, and lack of teaching ability, and generally being busy. To begin with, Minerva had replied politely; but after ten days of sending owls back and forth, she had lost patience and sent an owl that said simply that they needed a professor, Dalmatea was the best for the job, and Minerva would expect to see her in Hogwarts no later than Saturday the fourth of July, ready to begin teaching the eighth years on the following Monday.

To the headmistress's enormous relief, the direct approach had worked perfectly. The reply owl had arrived that morning; it laid out the conditions that Dalmatea had, all of which were entirely reasonable: time off for important Wizengamot considerations was the most troubling, but Elphias had reassured her during the week that he would make sure, as much as possible, that that did not interfere with teaching, so they would have to wait and see.

There was a knock on the door, and Flitwick entered. "Ah! Minerva!" he twittered. "You look happy?" he said, as he took a seat in front of the desk. Despite its hard appearance, the chair was surprisingly comfortable, and he wasn't surprised that it rose up so that they were at eye level. He had loved Albus Dumbledore; but he had to admit that the Headmistress was, on the whole, much more approachable and easy to deal with.

"Don't sound so surprised!" she rejoined. "Yes, we now have a DADA Professor!"

"Merrythought?" he asked.

"Indeed," she replied. "She will be taking up residence on the third of July. I take it that will pose no problem?"

"Of course not," the tiny man replied. "I shall write to her and ask how she would like her rooms."

"There's no need," the headmistress replied. "She's sent a detailed sketch." And with this, she levitated a piece of parchment over to the Charms professor, who studied it carefully. "Is it achievable?"

"There should be no problem," he replied. "So, is that everyone?"

"Just about," McGonagall replied. "The biggest difficulty remaining is Muggle Studies, but the Ministry is looking into that for us."

"And you are happy for that?" Flitwick asked, puzzled. "After all, the last professor they provided was Umb-"

"Yes, Filius, yes," Minerva said, cutting him off. She **really** didn't want to hear Umbridge's name ever again. The woman was a disgrace to teaching. Scratch that, the woman was a disgrace to **women**. Minerva did not like name-calling, but in Dolores's case she made an exception: in her mind, the witch was a poisonous old toad, and there was an end to the matter. "But Arthur Weasley is not Cornelius Fudge!"

"About that," Flitwick asked. "Why are you dealing with him, and not the Minister?"

She looked at him a little askance. "I think that Kingsley has rather a lot on his mind," she replied. "And frankly, Arthur has proved to be perfect to deal with. I know you were worried that he wouldn't have the clout to get things done; but that doesn't seem to be the case. And he knows about teaching from the parents' point of view as much as the Ministry's, which is enormously helpful. His ideas about pastoral care are excellent; you do realise that the mentoring programme is all his idea?"

"Really?" Flitwick asked. "I hadn't. In that case, why has he suggested me for Mr Potter? I would have thought he would want to look after him himself?"

"I think he sees himself as Potter's father," the headmistress replied. "Which is rather good, don't you think? The poor boy has had such a woeful family situation for so long, shut away with the Dursleys, who hated him by all accounts; and I think Arthur wants to be there as a father for him now that it's all coming out into the open. So perhaps he thought it would be good for Harry to have a different mentor?"

"Yes, I agree. Well, that's all to the good. So, then. We still have to wait on a Muggle Studies professor; but we have four weeks yet to fill the position. Now, this evening. Are you all ready for this party?"

McGonagall looked abashed. "Oh! Yes! It's tonight, isn't it!"

Flitwick looked at her, concerned. The woman spent altogether too much time thinking about the school, and not nearly enough looking after herself, he thought. "Yes, it's tonight. And don't even think about crying off! Have you bought some robes?"

"No," she answered, surprised to be asked. "I thought I'd just wear these?" she continued, pointing to her standard school robes.

"Oh no you don't!" Flitwick said. "Draco deserves you to make an effort! We're going to Madam Malkin's!"

-#-

It was all coming together at last. MacNair had joined him last night, quietly; he had been impressed that the man had stayed out of the Ministry's clutches for so long, and even more when he walked into the wards around the hideout without being discovered by any of the outlying spies beforehand. This was definitely the sort of ally he needed. If they were going to take down the traitors, being able to come and go unobserved would be crucial. Especially, tonight, the going part, he thought, and went over the plans in his mind again.

MacNair had provided the portkeys, and they were perfect. He could tell at once that the Ministry Aurors had not managed to get their grubby hands on them; no, these were left over from the Dark Lord's days, and still had his protection spells on them. Excellent. They would be able to do the deed and escape before anyone had realised what was going on.

Those fools at the Ministry had left Flint in the holding cells, ripe for the plucking; he would liberate him just before they left for the ambush site, so that there would not be time for the Aurors to react. He did, of course, still have his spies in place, just in case they needed to divert the hunt; the _Signum Revelare_ spell was, apparently, not foolproof. But he always liked to have a plan that relied on as few people as possible. The Auror spies were just a smokescreen, a fail-safe measure, not integral to the success itself.

He wondered again what had happened to his own little traitor. The man seemed to have gone completely to pieces after he had reported on the date, time, and state of the wards. The report had been a good one; as he had foreseen, the Ministry had not allowed Malfoy to touch the wards, and their own spells were quite insipid. There was no-one left with the brilliance of Mad-Eye Moody, and his informant had managed to remove the plugs that the Ministry had made to the wards. So the Dark Lord's followers could get in freely again. As for Flint, they would smuggle him in as one of the revelers. He had wanted to use his traitor, but as he had gone to ground, the next best thing was available: they had poly-juice, and a strand of his hair, so Flint would take his place.

Yaxley smiled to himself. It was all going swimmingly.

-#-

Minerva was making a fuss, but secretly she was rather pleased that Filius had insisted. She hadn't set foot in Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions for many years; and Madam Malkin herself, still there, had bustled round, commenting on how delightful it was to see Minerva again, and how she must come more often – to which Flitwick had agreed, making her blush to think about how old her robes were. But they were perfectly serviceable still, she insisted; why would she go to the expense of buying new robes when the old ones were still good to wear?

Madame Malkin chuckled, not at all offended by this. The robes she sold were good quality; they outlasted the fashions, at least, so that people bought new robes because they wanted to, not because they had to. If McGonagall didn't want to, that was, of course, her business; but the robes she was wearing were so old that if Malkin didn't sell her new ones soon, there was a danger that they would be fashionable again!

Flitwick was magnificent, commenting critically on the robes and not allowing McGonagall to simply buy the first thing she saw, which she had the last three times she'd visited, to Madam Malkin's certain knowledge; and the seamstress had to admit that the man had taste. The outfit the headmistress ended up with struck exactly the right balance between the gravity of her position and the fact that she was supposed to be going to a party.

Once they had left the shop, after Flitwick had insisted she buy two more sets of robes for normal wear, they strolled along Diagon Alley. Minerva was overwhelmed by a sense of nostalgia; she hadn't simply strolled along an alley, having nothing to do, for she couldn't remember how long, and it reminded of her of going shopping with her grandmother, who would say things like "let's pop into Zonko's!" and when asked "why?" would reply, "just for fun!"

"Professor McGonagall!" a voice called out, and she turned to see George Weasley standing outside of what she knew at once must be his shop, Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. She was instantly torn. As the Headmistress of Hogwarts, it was her duty to disapprove of many of the items the twins sold; as their former housemistress, she was proud as proud could be that they had made such a success of themselves.

"Mr Weasley!" she replied, turning to him and stopping outside the shop. "I'm surprised to see you here, instead of helping set up for this evening. And I do hear congratulations are in order? Where is Mr Longbottom?"

"Thank you, Professor," George replied. "Neville's helping to set up for tonight. Um, would you like to come into the shop?"

"Thank you, no," she replied; "people might think that I approved."

George laughed.

"But I don't understand – why are you here, if he's not? Or is there Trouble in Paradise?"

This got another laugh. "Oh, not at all," he replied. "In fact, Mum specifically said she wanted Fred and Neville to help, and me to mind the shop, as she knew she wasn't going to get much work out of us if it was Neville and me, or Fred and me!"

And this remark even managed to elicit a laugh from the headmistress, which George counted as a major success.

-#-

At four o'clock, Draco was fretting more than a little. He normally allowed at least two hours for the process of getting ready for a major event. They were supposed to be at the Manor in an hour and a half at the most, and he hadn't even decided what to wear.

"I thought we could just wear the robes from last night?" Harry asked.

Draco looked at him. "Wear the same clothes two days in a row?" he asked, scandalised.

"Yeah, why not?" Harry asked. "They were quite clean, and I spelled them so anyway as I put them back in the wardrobes. Please, Draco, I bought them for your birthday, it would mean a great deal to me."

Draco decided that he was getting soft. Harry's begging face was too much for him to resist.

"All right," he said. "But can I at least wear a different shirt?"

"Of course," Harry said, reaching into his wardrobe and pulling out a shirt. "I bought this for you as well."

Draco took the shirt, and loved it instantly. It was a pale green, with silver strands through the material; and when he put it on, he could see that it complemented his eyes and hair beautifully. Once again, he was amazed at Harry's new-found taste.

"So, did my mother help you choose this?" he asked, teasingly.

"Actually," Harry said, "this one was all me." And then he added, diffidently, "do you like it?"

"Oh Harry!" he said in mock exasperation. "It's lovely! But you have to lose this insecurity! What am I going to do with you?"

"Um … shag me?" was the cheeky reply.

Draco looked at him, seriously contemplating it. "You sure you don't want to shag me?" he replied.

Harry looked a little crestfallen. "Actually, I do. But I don't think you're ready for it."

Draco wanted to protest that he was up for anything, but the words stuck in his craw. Harry was right; there was something, some reservation in him that he hadn't even suspected was there, still to be resolved.

"It's OK, my love," Harry said, softly, and Draco found the tone comforted him and deflated the anger and guilt that were rising up. "I know you love me. I want us to feel totally comfortable together. It's not a test."

It really wasn't surprising, then, that they didn't actually get to the Manor until nearly six o'clock, both wearing their new robes; and both, if they only knew it, looking absolutely gorgeous. Though it might be said that Harry's hair was even messier than usual …

-#-

Elphias Doge sat in front of his fire. It might be a balmy June night, but he was an old man, and he loved being warm. It was very kind of Molly and Arthur to ask him to the party, and part of him wished he had accepted; but he had to be realistic. He liked his own company; and he liked being in his own house; and he was finding that his job was getting tiring enough without adding socialising on top. A few more years, that's all they'd get from him, and he'd be back in retirement.

He admired his dear friend Albus for his strength to keep the headmastership for all those years; but he couldn't be him. He was glad that Arthur had asked for his help with the curriculum, though. Somehow, being involved with Hogwarts, even if only tangentially, made him feel a connection to his first ever real friend. And Arthur had not only asked; he had also listened, and commented, and together they had built what Elphias believed would be an amazing unit, the likes of which had never been seen before.

Given the division in their world, it needed to be, he thought, rather ruefully.

-#-

Harry and Draco Flooed into Narcissa's study, which was completely empty of people. As they arrived, Harry called for Dippy, who appeared with a pop in front of them.

"Master Harry!" she said, with large, excited eyes. "And Master Draco! Please, stay here, and I will be informing the mistress yous is here!" And with that, she vanished.

Draco was amazed to be asked to wait, in his own house; but Harry neatly caught his attention by pointing out the chaise-longue. Draco laughed to see it.

"I hadn't realised it was here," he admitted, "but my mother was always good at getting her hands on furniture she liked; and it's a great compliment that she chose to keep it, and put it in her own study."

"You don't think she did so just because you made it?" Harry asked, teasingly.

"Not at all," said the lady herself, as she entered the study. "It is a beautiful piece, exquisite in detail, and I'm sure you agree, a wonderful addition to this room. It's lovely to see you, Draco dear, Harry dear," she said, kissing each of them on the cheek as she named them. "I'm happy to say that your birthday present is ready; please come into the garden and I will show you."

His curiosity well and truly piqued, Draco followed her out of the study, Harry bringing up the rear.

-#-

Narcissa lead them out to French doors next to the ones that lead into Harry's cottage garden. Through these doors, Draco knew, was a large expanse of lawn that was separated from the individual planted gardens by a high laurel hedge. But as he went through, he found that the lawn, instead of its usual pristine and vacant self, was filled with people, and a marquee, and tables and chairs. As they walked out, everyone rose.

"SURPRISE!" They all roared.

And so Draco realised he was to have his wish: his party was at the Manor. The first people to come up to him were his friends: Blaise, Pansy, Millicent, Greg and even Theo, let out from St Mungo's especially for the occasion. They each wished him a 'happy birthday' in turn, but he was too stunned to say very much. He did ask Blaise where he had been hiding all week, and the Italian pulled a face.

"Pansy has already grilled me," he confessed, "and I tell you what I told her: I just felt I needed a bit of a break after that interview with the horrible woman."

"A break for a whole week?" Draco asked. But Blaise grimaced, and Draco could see that he really didn't want to talk about it; and there were many more guests to greet, so he allowed Pansy to lead his friends away in search of drinks.

After this, all the other guests came up to wish him a happy birthday: Arthur and Molly Weasley led their children up, together with Neville Longbottom and Robin Banks, who commented on how glad he was to finally visit the Manor as an invited guest, rather than as an unwanted Auror!

"You were the best," Draco said, quietly. "We were so glad when you came instead of that horrible Crockford man."

"Ah," Robin said, "some, though not all, of Dandelus's behaviour was caused by the Imperio; he is still in St Mungo's recovering. He was under the curse for a long time, and the Healers say that the recovery time is related to the time spent under the curse. We'll see what he's like when he gets out."

Draco was pleased that Robin tried to see the good in people; he was, after all, a beneficiary of that attitude himself. So he smiled agreeably.

As Draco was talking to Robin, Harry looked around the garden. Narcissa and Molly had done an incredible job decorating it, he saw; the silver-and-green theme they had agreed on was everywhere: the tablecloths, napkins, bunting on the marquee all had the same motif running through them, the same understated elegance worked through. As he looked around, he noticed Neville's bell-flowers were draped over the hedge, giving a beautiful soft silver light, and he realised that this must be the 'special order' that Neville had referred to when he had visited the shop. He pulled his friend over to him.

"So this is what you were doing on Thursday?" he asked.

Neville smiled, pleased to be asked. "Yes. What do you think?"

"It's incredible," Harry replied, "really incredible. They're beautiful, Neville."

"Neville, beautiful? You trying to muscle in on my fiancé?" George asked, mockingly.

"Not at all," Harry asked. "I have a beautiful fiancé all of my own!"

"And don't you forget it!" Draco responded, now finished talking to Robin and becoming interested in this new conversation. "What were you talking about?"

"The bell-flowers," Harry replied, pointing them out. "Neville made them."

Draco looked around. "You're right," he said at last, "they are beautiful. You made them for me?" he asked Neville.

"Of course," Neville replied. "Narcissa ordered them, and I knew Harry was planning something, so it didn't take much to put two and two together."

"Thank you," Draco replied, a little teary at the thought that Harry's friends really did accept and love him.

George had looked like he was going to burst during this conversation, and finally broke in, "now that you've stopped talking about flowers," (Neville glared at him, but he pressed on), "fiancé? So you really did it?"

"Yes!" Draco said, all smiles, and showed George and Neville the ring Harry had given him.

"Best to keep that quiet for the minute, though," Harry warned. "I think Lucius wants to make a big announcement about it."

There were still plenty more guests to meet, and Harry pointed out that one of the tables was given over to presents. Draco smirked to see that it was there, and that there were so many gifts on it. The table had to be propped up with magic; there was no way it would still be standing otherwise. He loved presents. But they were going to be hard-pressed to top the ones Harry had given him last night.

-#-

Lucius showed a beautiful sense of theatre, Harry thought; instead of announcing the engagement as soon as they had got there, he had let everyone greet Draco and have a few words about the birthday before he stood up, cast a Sonorus charm, asked everyone to make sure that they had a drink in their hand, and began to speak.

"Thank you all for coming to help us celebrate Draco's eighteenth birthday," he began. "We are truly blessed to have survived the last year; and it's amazing to think how different the world is to when Draco turned seventeen and we were all living in fear of a madman. Narcissa and I are very pleased to welcome you all today; many of you have not been our friends in times past, and we hope that we will be able to build firm relations with you in days to come. And we want to salute Harry Potter," he said, looking straight at Harry, who blushed; "without him, we would all probably be vassals of that madman. So, congratulations Draco, and thanks Harry. And we do have another happy occasion to celebrate," he said. "Arthur, Molly, Narcissa and I are delighted to announce that last night Harry asked my son to marry him – and I understand that the offer was not entirely unacceptable?" he asked, teasingly, looking over at Draco.

Draco walked over to his father, holding Harry's hand as he did so. As they got there, he turned to all the guests and showed off his ring.

"Thank you for coming, and your warm wishes, and love," he began. "I too am overwhelmed by the number of new friends we have made. And yes, Harry is the most wonderful romantic," he said. "He gave me an amazing dinner, and then topped it off with a beautiful ring, which I fell in love with immediately. Really, how could I say no? If I had said no, I would have had to give it back …"

There was a general roar of laughter, and everyone clapped madly and cheered them both. Draco's face flushed with pride at being so accepted and loved, and Harry was overjoyed to see that the nervousness of the morning seemed to have vanished altogether.

-#-

Harry and Draco sauntered around the garden, happily chatting with their friends, as everyone came up to offer congratulations. They were standing by the French doors that led into Harry's garden when Narcissa called for Harry to come inside. Draco followed, but came out again a moment later.

"That was quick, Drake," Pansy said. "What did your mother want?"

"Harry," he replied. "She said with her eyes that she just wanted him without me. I think we're going to have the cake now. Come for a short walk?"

They strolled over to the old oak that served as the focal point for the cottage garden, and Pansy left Draco alone there, going to fetch drinks for them.

Harry walked out of the French doors, looking over to Draco. And then it happened.

"STUPEFY!" A voice yelled. Draco thought he recognised the voice. Could it be? Blaise?

"CONFRINGO!" A deeper, older voice. MacNair?

"SECTUMSEMPRA!"

-#-

* * *

_**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**__ Mwah hah hah hah hah …_

_Grateful thanks as always to Bicky Monster for all their help. And for saying particularly nice things about this chapter!  
_

**_FACEBOOK: _**_In a blatant attempt to steal ideas from you all, I've set up a page called 'AchillesTheGeek', feel free to 'like' it. If there's enough interest, I'll post teasers and stuff, OK?_**_  
_**

_____You can also find this story on archiveofourown dot org._

_Thanks to all who are following and favoriting! Gives me a lovely warm feeling that you're interested. And double thanks with chocolate sprinkles to those who review.  
_

_Seriously, reviews are much appreciated. _

_****__Replies: __I do reply individually, but I also feel you should be acknowledged (and maybe other people want to know my answers to your questions too!). Please do log in to comment, I enjoy responding individually._

___**Mayle:** You might want this (hands over handkerchief). Thank you. Good to know that my story is being enjoyed._

_**Bicky Monster:** I'll try!_

_**KillJoy7772:** How kind. Wedding bells are indeed in the offing, though they may take a little while coming. If, that is, Draco gets out alive ..._  
_1. Why does Draco top?  
_A: Because it's his birthday. And because Harry asked nicely. It isn't a rule.  
___2. What's going to happen at the Burrow?  
_A: (evil cackle) I'm going to move the party to the Manor.  
___3. Will Blaise be there?  
_A: Yes. But is that a good thing?  
___4. Will they announce their engagement?  
_A: No, but Lucius did, which is just as good.  
___5. How will Rita react?  
_A: We shall see.  
___6. Can't I just kill her a little bit?  
_A: No.  
___  
**MirrorFlower and DarkWind:** Thanks!_

_**Cherrie-san, sara, helen:** Glad you thought so!_

_Helen asks if Harry will get pregnant. All I'm going to say is: not today!_


	33. Returning to their True Friends

**33 Returning to their True Friends  
**

As Draco had come out of the house and walked back into the garden, the watcher knew that this was the moment. The tension in his body was so tight he wondered that all the guests at the party didn't hear it. He watched the blond, accompanied by that Parkinson bitch, walk over to the tree. They were sure that the blond boy traitor was going to do that. Blaise had gone over the plans with them in detail: Draco was to stand by the tree, Narcissa would then light the candles and bring the cake out through the French doors and place it on the table in the cottage garden. 'Potter's garden', apparently. How soppy! But it lent a nice touch to the proceedings he thought; despatching Draco in the very garden that the traitorous family had given his ... fiancé. The word sounded abominable, even in his mind. _The world will definitely be better off without this filth_, he thought.

But they hadn't counted on Draco having company at this point; he was supposed to be alone to receive the cake and applause, that was the pure-blood tradition. If that girl didn't move soon, she might be a threat to the plan. They didn't have much time; Potter was sure to appear and walk back over to him soon. And they had to get Draco while Harry wasn't there; they knew that penetrating the shield was impossible. MacNair had been all for just casting Avada Kadava and being done with it; but he was sure that the wards would not permit the words to be spoken. The Ministry might be staffed with fools; but there were still some competent Aurors. Not so many, though, he thought, remembering how they seemed to have overlooked completely the fact that the wards were still set to allow Voldemort's Death Eaters through, a very useful hangover from the Wizarding War. Auror Barnes had been most helpful in this respect. He had ensured that Lucius was never consulted about, nor allowed to touch, the wards; and he had hidden the little rift in the wards that they had used to get through, so that only a truly clever Auror would ever have found it.

His thoughts broke off abruptly as he saw that, happily, the bitch had moved; Parkinson was now walking over to the refreshments table, obviously in search of drinks. Excellent. Potter walked out of the French doors and was now looking over to Malfoy. Perfect. The Boy Who Lived was now in prime position to watch his boyfriend's death.

"STUPEFY!" a voice yelled. Blaise's voice, he thought, an evil grin passing across his face.

"CONFRINGO!" A deeper, older voice. MacNair. They were right on time.

"SECTUMSEMPRA!" he yelled, and the air filled with magic as the three curses pulsed together, heading for the blond, who stood still, seeming stunned by the sound of the spells.

-#-

It only took half a second for him to know that something had gone badly wrong. Potter was still standing on the step, looking towards Malfoy, to be sure; but the latter was no longer visible. Instead, surrounding the blond was a cloud of light. Green, and silver, and red strands swirled around him, pulsing ominously, full of power and possibility. It quite took the watcher's breath away. And then the light streamed out, seeming to seek the three spell-casters. The watcher activated his portkey, but it failed completely as the light struck him and he found himself in the grip of strong magic, holding him, binding him, stopping him from speaking or casting any spell; even moving was beyond him now. He could only watch.

_SHIT! _Everything they had read said that the shield would only be produced if the two of them were physically touching. And yet here it was, more powerful than the last time he had seen it, even though Potter was on the step, nowhere near Malfoy …

Potter. He looked across at the raven-haired man. All of a sudden, as he watched in horror, the spell faded, and the enemy's strategy became plain to him. He had been played; the biter had been bit. The one whom he had courted and turned traitor had turned out to be playing a double game. For there, standing on the step, was not Harry Potter, but Blaise Zabini.

The coloured shield started to fade from view, and he could see that Malfoy had been joined by Potter. The two were kissing each other! A wave of revulsion coursed through him at the sight. As he looked back at Zabini on the step, he saw exactly the same emotion portrayed on that man's face, and wondered what was going on. Was Blaise perhaps also disgusted by this unnatural liaison? But then he realised that Zabini was not looking at Malfoy and Potter. His revulsion was directed, not at the couple kissing under the oak tree, but at the three attackers, the ones who had tried to kill Draco Malfoy. He had never seen such a look of pure distaste, and then hatred; not even Voldemort had been so fiercely and implacably set against his enemies. In that instant he knew that Zabini had never, not for one moment, been on his side. He had been a double agent from the very beginning. All of Yaxley's plans now lay open, exposed, betrayed. The careful trap he had set for the Malfoy brat turned out to be a trap set for him; and he had walked straight into it.

-#-

Harry had put his hand on Draco the moment that Pansy had walked away from them. He had been trusting that they would not attack before the blond was, or seemed to be, alone; and the invisibility cloak was proving its usefulness once again. He heard the curses being sent and a part of his brain noted that it was the same three spells as last time, and wondered why; there must be some reason for those three particularly, you wouldn't choose them at random twice, especially since the first time had failed. But mostly he was caught up with the incredible feeling of magic as it pulsed through him. The shield sprang into being, more colourful than ever, swirling around them. It was much stronger than last time; the Sectumsempra did not bounce off this time as the shield had no problem absorbing all three curses, and he directed the magic out towards the three curse-makers. Without even needing a conscious command, the magic seemed naturally to follow back along the lines that the curses had come, and impounded each person in a prison of pure power. As this was happening, he pocketed the cloak; the fewer people who knew about it, the better. And then he grabbed his lover.

"I'm so sorry we had to do that," he said softly, his lips seeking Draco's. "I never want you in that much danger again."

"It's all right, Harry," Draco answered. "I signed up for it, remember?"

They kissed; and a huge wave of relief washed through them as they knew that the threat that had been hanging over them for weeks was now gone. They stood there, kissing, as the shield came down and a huge cry of relief and joy went up as their friends and family saw that they were together and unharmed.

-#-

The three were caught up in cocoons of magic, now pulsing with white light. The forms of Yaxley and MacNair were clearly visible now; the hoods they had worn pulled back and the Notice-Me-Not charms drained. The third cocoon was not quite so clear. The form inside seemed to be shifting between two different shapes.

"That's Blaise!" Pansy gasped.

And then the poly-juice finally failed, yielding to the powerful magic Harry had unleashed, and the form that had looked like Blaise Zabini resolved into a different wizard altogether. Marcus Flint stood, unmasked, silent because of the magic holding him, but shaking with rage at being caught.

-#-

The Auror response was swift; everything had been set up beforehand. Yaxley and MacNair were taken away immediately; as they had already been tried and found guilty of war crimes, they could be taken straight to Azkaban, and no formal courtesy was needed, or offered, as three Aurors swiftly marched the two of them away to the Floo point.

Flint, however, was another matter. As he had not yet been tried for previous attack on Draco, his guilt, though evident, was not, in the eyes of the law, proven. As he was already formally under arrest, he was now formally arrested for this new attack, and taken back to the Ministry holding cells.

Just before he could be taken away, while the other two were being dealt with and marched away and the Slytherin was still cocooned by magic, Harry walked up to him, his mind full of questions; but there was one above all he wanted answered.

"Why?" he asked.

"Why what?" came the surly reply.

"Why attack Draco?"

Flint's eyebrows shot up. Did Potter really think he was going to tell him anything? "I don't have to tell you!" he spat out.

"No," Harry said, as two Aurors came to take him into custody. "But I had hoped you might want to. I'm sorry, Marcus."

"Don't you call me that, Potter!" the prisoner snarled. "I don't want your pity!" And with that, he was led away.

Draco came up and wrapped his arms around Harry. He could feel the guilt that was throbbing through Harry; hell, he felt the guilt when he was still walking towards him.

"I know what you're thinking, Harry, and it's not true. Yes, we set him up for this; but he chose to go through with it. Be glad that we were able to draw his fire, OK? He attacked us, and we were ready for it, instead of attacking some poor sap who didn't have the ear of the Ministry."

"I suppose you're right, Draco," Harry replied. "Perhaps there really is a good way to use my fame to actually achieve something."

And Draco thought that if he had finally got Harry to accept that, it was already an excellent evening's work.

-#-

It was all over inside two minutes. Flint had barely gone when Narcissa and Molly brought the cake out; they were determined not to let a small matter like the guest of honour being attacked by homicidal maniacs spoil the party. Everyone else seemed to take up the cue, and within minutes they were back congratulating Draco and Harry, drinking champagne and eating birthday cake.

Harry and Draco circulated. They too were determined to enjoy themselves and to take the evening's events in their stride. One thing that Draco was particularly concerned about was to make sure that everyone understood the role that Blaise had played in their little charade. To this end, he took all of their schoolmates together into a corner of the big marquee that had been erected on the lawn, and he and Harry explained the whole story to both Gryffindor and Slytherin alike (and the solitary Ravenclaw, Luna Lovegood).

"We need you to understand exactly what Blaise has done for us," Draco began.

"So he's not a traitor?" Pansy asked, and Blaise blushed a deep red at the directness of the question.

"Not at all," Harry insisted. "Blaise was very helpful in setting up this party – and in keeping it a secret from Draco. After Skeeter's article came out last Sunday, I realised that we could use Blaise's comments to our advantage. I suspected that, given Blaise's comments, Yaxley might well approach him and ask for his help; and Blaise agreed to work as our spy with him."

"Yaxley did ask me for help, not till Tuesday, though," Blaise said. "I don't know if he trusted me till then, but the article helped, and Harry told me to visit pubs and bad-mouth him some more."

Draco smirked at the thought of Blaise playing the agent like this. He was sure that he would have done a magnificent job; apart from being an angry drunk, Blaise was exceptionally good at the Slytherin trait of keeping his true feelings hidden.

"I went under a glamour, and he found me."

"Not so good a glamour," Pansy interjected.

"No, it wasn't supposed to be. So anyway, I convinced him that I had gone to ground and didn't want Draco to know where I was this week, because I was embarrassed by the article. I told him that Draco would not be surprised if I was here for the party; he would know I couldn't resist. So I told him about the date, and the wards, and explained about the cake and garden. He believed everything I said; he had cornered me in the bar, and dropped veritaserum in my drink."

"Of course," Draco cut in, "the irony is that you lied to Yaxley by telling him the truth." He turned to the others, explaining further, "everything Blaise said was true; and everything he said was designed to push Yaxley the way we wanted him to go."

"And he didn't ask me if I was spying for Harry, only for Draco," Blaise continued. "And I knew Draco knew nothing of what I was doing, so I could truthfully say so," Blaise continued. "When Yaxley told me Draco was the real target and asked if I would cast the hex, I didn't have to pretend at all; I told him no way would I hurt my friend, and he took some of my hair for the poly-juice and told me to disappear and not let any of you find me."

"Since then, he's been staying here all week, kept secret by Ministry wards, which, by the way, are a lot stronger than Yaxley believed," Harry continued. "Then, when Flint turned up, poly-juiced as Zabini, we took a strand of my hair, and Blaise took some poly-juice himself so he could pretend to be me, while I hid behind the oak tree and waited for Yaxley and his minions to strike."

"What a brilliant plan!" a voice said behind them. Harry gasped. He would never find Rita Skeeter pleasant; nor her voice; nor, above all, her prodigious talent for turning up exactly when she was not wanted.

"Rita!" he hissed.

"Lovely to see you, too, Harry," she replied cooly. "I do hope you'll give me an exclusive?" she said, batting her eyelids and giving what was no doubt supposed to be a winsome smile.

At this point, Kingsley Shacklebolt walked in.

"Miss Skeeter," he boomed. "What a - _pleasant_ - surprise." His tone made it quite clear that it was anything but. "I do hope that you aren't trying to force yourself on these nice young people – after all, this is a private party, and I believe I am right in thinking you weren't invited?"

"I don't think she's doing any harm, Minister," Luna said, and everyone except Skeeter turned and looked at her as if she'd just suggested they pose nude for a photo. "No, really," she said to Harry, "after all, you want people to know Blaise is no traitor, right? And that you and Draco are out of circulation?"

Harry thought about this, and smiled. Luna could be very strange at times, but she had an amazingly clear head for journalism. No doubt inherited from her father, Xenophilius, who was still publishing The Quibbler. He must be doing something right to still be in business.

"You're right," he replied, smiling at her, and receiving a rather knowing smile in return. "But do we really want it to be an exclusive? After all, I gave you a long interview only a week ago, Rita. And Luna is affiliated with your main rival …"

Rita licked her lips. She needed something; she'd been pursuing that Parkinson girl all week for an interview, but all she had to show for it was some rather hefty bar bills. She was a sly one, that one! And Harry wanted something, that was obvious. He was going to say yes, but he wanted a sop from her to make it a deal. She had played this game many times before; the only thing that mattered was to find the price that was acceptable. And, in her experience, not to exceed the price – surprisingly often, it was very low.

So, what could it be? Harry liked his privacy, she knew that. Right now, of course, he could run and hide whenever he wanted, so she couldn't make leverage out of that. BUT, she realised, in four weeks' time he would be sequestered in Hogwarts, unable to escape. Now she knew perfectly well that the Prophet had already been told by the Ministry, in no uncertain terms, to leave the students alone; but that was an order, not a deal. She knew Cuffe would have to abide by this edict; but how much better if it was a deal she had cut. They would then have the moral high ground – always a useful place, in her experience. Cuffe would be able to play it to the public as The Prophet, rather than the Ministry, defending Potter's privacy. And she would be able to play it to him as her deal to save his face – valuable currency in journalism, she knew very well.

"I'll tell you what, Mr Potter," she replied, suddenly all business-like. "You and Mr Malfoy give us a nice interview, we'll write a lovely set of pieces for you about the attack, and the sterling job the Ministry has done defending you, and how your friends are all behind you, and Mr Zabini's commendable actions; and in return we'll agree not to seek out interviews during the school term."

It was very clever of Skeeter to add the bit about the Ministry, Kingsley thought; after all, he knew perfectly well that the offer was making a virtue out of necessity as the Ministry would insist on a media blackout on the students anyway; she was making it easy for him to keep quiet about that. _A honey-pot trap of her own_, he thought. But really, it was going to work well for all of them. He nodded to Harry to signify that he wouldn't object.

"Draco?" Harry asked, not wanting to proceed if his partner had any qualms.

"All right," the blond agreed. "But the Minister might want to read the article before it goes to press."

"That will be tight," the journalist replied, in her 'confidential insider' voice. "But I think we can make it work, if we start at once."

"Well," said Harry, "this is a party, so to be fair to our hosts and guests, we can only give you a very few minutes."

Skeeter didn't need to be told that twice; ten minutes later she had the workings of a good article. Fortunately, she had had the foresight to bring a Daily Prophet photographer along with her, and he had managed to take what she decided was a rather nice photograph of the pair, showing off Draco's engagement ring.

At this point, Lucius wandered into the marquee, wondering what had happened to his son and said son's fiancé, who he had not seen outside for some time. Of course he at once saw Skeeter, and his eyes narrowed. He was not fond of gatecrashers, especially ones who had caused Harry as much trouble as this woman. Rita, sensing that she was no longer welcome, at once assured him she was just leaving.

"Indeed," he said, his voice icily polite as his gaze swept over the journalist and the photographer. "Allow me to conduct you and your colleague to the Floo."

"Oh, Mr Malfoy," Rita said, fluttering her eyes at him, "please, don't trouble yourself. I'm sure a house-elf could take us there."

_Yes, and you'd interview it on the way for 'a little colour', I'll be bound, _he thought. But what he actually said was, "I couldn't possibly be so unchivalrous," as he steered them deftly to the Floo point in the public reception room.

-#-

Caterers arrived in the marquee at this point to set up tables for the supper buffet to be served later on, and Draco and Harry took the opportunity to lead their friends outside and mingle with the guests again.

"Mr Potter, Mr Malfoy, a lovely party," a familiar voice said, and they turned to find Headmistress McGonagall chatting with Professor Flitwick and Dalmatea Merrythought.

"Good evening, Headmistress, Professor, Madam," Harry said, nodding to the group. "So glad you think so."

"Now, Headmistress," Draco said, eyeing her robes approvingly, and deciding that it was a social occasion and he had had enough champagne to be able to blame his cheek on its effect, "do I detect a new wardrobe?"

The headmistress blushed. It was unexpected, and charming because of it. "Mr Malfoy! I'm surprised that you take such an interest in my attire!" she said, her voice mock-scolding; but he could tell she was really quite pleased that someone had noticed.

"Don't you think they are lovely robes?" Flitwick asked, and Minerva's blush deepened.

"I do," Draco replied, deciding to go down with all his guns of gallantry blazing, "and we feel honoured that you would go to the trouble for our party."

"Yes, well," the aged headmistress replied, "I may say I am delighted to see you two together. And you will look after him, won't you, Mr Malfoy? He's shown us that that is a full-time job …"

And now it was Harry's turn to blush.

-#-

The party continued happily, and Draco and Harry were very much enjoying talking to all their guests. Ginny and Robin were effusive in their praise for the gardens; Robin explained that his mother was very fond indeed of gardening, and had instilled a love of it in her son. Harry asked him what his favourite would be, and his answer, without hesitation, was the rock gardens of Japan, which he had visited over the previous Autumn. Harry gave Draco a look, and the blond nodded in return.

"There's something we'd like to show you," he said, and led Robin away. Ginny and Draco naturally followed along; in a very few minutes the four were sitting quietly in Draco's garden, watching the shadows changing as the twilight slowly deepened. Robin was stunned to find such an authentic Japanese garden in the wilds of Wiltshire, and expressed his appreciation for it so warmly that Draco, tickled pink to find someone who shared his enthusiasm, told him he could come and see it whenever he liked.

They were sitting there a few minutes later when Narcissa came in.

"Ah Dragon!" she said. "There you are! There's someone come to see you."

And with that she led in Theodore Nott.

-#-

Nott looked round anxiously, obviously uncertain of the reaction he would get.

"I'm very sorry Draco –" he began to say, but got no further as his friend raced over to him and hugged the very breath out of him. _Merlin! _He thought, reeling in shock. _Is this the same Draco who never showed any emotion?"_

"Theo," Draco said, as he let go of his friend, "we understand. You were Imperiused, it wasn't your fault. I'm sorry about your arm."

As he was saying this, Harry came up behind his fiancé and wrapped him in a hug of his own; Draco smiled as he leant back into the embrace. By this time, Nott had recovered somewhat, and was beginning to be very curious indeed. He had heard, of course, that Draco and Potter were now an item; but it was still something of a shock to see them there together, so obviously happy and comfortable in each other's company.

"So … we are still friends?" he asked, still rather tentatively.

"Of course!" And the thing that shocked Theo to the core was that these words were said, not by his friend Draco, but by their former enemy, Potter. Their former enemy, who was now smiling at him and extending a hand to him in a clear invitation of friendship.

Then Potter looked embarrassed. "How is your arm?" he asked, his tone expressing obvious care and gentleness.

He accepted the hand; there was really nothing else to be done. Things really had changed, he decided, if Potter was asking him in such a gentle way. It remained to be seen how things changed from there; but he knew he had just gone from being a prisoner in Azkanban, through being a patient at St Mungo's, to being under the protection of the Boy Who Lived. It couldn't, the Slytherin decided, be a bad thing.

"Much better thanks," he said, smiling at the pair, and they all went back out into the party, where Draco made sure that Theo was reunited with the other Slytherins, who accepted him readily.

As it turned out, Theo didn't stop smiling all night; especially when Pansy took him home …

-#-

By the time the supper buffet was served, the light was fading, and Neville's beautiful bell flowers were emitting a soft, silvery light that made the garden look stunning. Harry was not at all surprised that the food was beautiful; but what did come as a surprise was the desserts. For, in pride of place on a table laden with sweet treats were a spotted dick and a treacle tart.

Draco took a large helping of the former, and after only one mouthful, said, "I know this taste. Kreacher!"

"Yes, Master Draco?" came the reply as the elderly elf appeared with a pop.

"You made this?" he asked.

"Yes, Master Draco!" Kreacher replied; and by the tone of his voice he was obviously enormously pleased that Draco could tell.

"And this!" Harry said appreciatively, tucking into the very large slice of treacle tart he had taken.

"Yes, Master Harry! Mistress Cissy is being asking Kreacher what the masters like best, and Kreacher is making them for the masters!"

"Thank you Kreacher, we appreciate that very much," Draco said, and the elf was so beside himself to be praised by a Black family member that he squealed with joy, and vanished.

"Did I hear that right?" George Weasley said, as the twins came up to them, "you actually / thanked a house-elf? / We'll have to / write to Hermione about this!"

Draco's face paled in mock-horror. "Please don't!" he said, "I'll never hear the end of it!"

George grinned. Draco, he decided, could be a good sport. "You have won me over with your silver tongue," he replied.

"Hey!" Harry said, in mock-indignation.

"Straw is cheaper!" Fred replied, cutting him off. He could tell that Harry was about to make a comment about Draco's tongue and its uses that would be singularly unfortunate given that his future mother-in-law had just entered the marquee. "Lovely party, Mrs Malfoy."

"Thank you, Mr Weasley," the lady replied, serenely unaware of the moment she had missed. "I believe we are ready for your kind contribution?"

-#-

The Weasleys' fireworks had been amazing. The guests had all had a wonderful time. The horrors of the attack had been completely overcome. Draco and Harry lay together now in Draco's bed.

"Harry," said Draco, "I …"

"You want to, but you're still not sure?" Harry asked.

"Yeah," the blond replied, feeling guilty. That was it in a nutshell: Harry had been so loving, and so trusting, and making love to him had been just amazing. He so wanted to have Harry do the same for him; but he just didn't feel he could return that love. He so wanted to.

"It really is alright, Dray," Harry said; then remembered how Draco had responded when he had first called him that. "Um, you don't like that, do you? What should I call you?"

Draco stared at his lover. He couldn't believe this man. At every turn, Harry amazed him by how caring and concerned he could be. He thought back on all the vile names he had called him – Potty and Scarhead coming to mind most readily – and that made it clear what he had to say.

"Harry, I really think I don't mind what you call me, as long as it's you calling me it," he said, his cheeks burning with the shame of being so soppy… again. He was becoming a habit, he thought; but for Harry, he just couldn't help himself.

But Harry didn't seem to notice the soppiness. "May I …" he began, haltingly, "… call you Dragon?"

Draco blushed. Only his mother used that one. But he meant what he said. "Yes, my love."

"Oh, my Dragon, I do love you," Harry said, running his hands gently over Draco's body. Draco returned the gesture, and soon they ended up snuggled together, hugging and kissing; and so they fell asleep clasping each other tightly.

-#-

_Sunday 7 June 1998_

Harry was sitting in the cottage garden. He still couldn't quite think of it as his; but he accepted that he had the run of it, and he definitely found that, for him, it was the best place in the Manor to sit and think.

He nearly choked on his honeyed tea when he spotted the Daily Prophet headline.

_**SNAKE CHARMER!**_

_**By Rita Skeeter**_

_The Destroyer of Voldemort seems to have made another conquest! Last night, at a party held to celebrate his lover's birthday, the hero of the Wizarding world, our own Harry Potter, and the lover in question, his arch rival from school, Mr Draco Malfoy, announced their engagement. No doubt witches all over the country will be in mourning!_

_Mr Potter has won not only Mr Malfoy's heart but apparently that of another Slytherin house member: Mr Blaise Zabini was instrumental in helping Mr Potter foil a cowardly attack on his fiancé. Will our hero ever stop saving people? Let us hope not!_

He read on, his cheeks burning, but the rest of the article was even worse drivel than the beginning. Happily, he was interrupted by a blond head peeking over his shoulder; he turned his head for a good morning kiss.

"You slept well," he said. "I've been up for an hour already!"

"It's not my fault you were foolish enough to leave a comfortable bed when you didn't have to," Draco responded. It was, after all, Sunday morning; Draco felt virtuous to have got up before lunchtime. "How bad is it?" he asked, his eyes indicating the article.

"Utter nonsense," Harry replied. "But it's all syrupy sweet. She doesn't call you a 'Death Eater' once. And Blaise is at least mentioned positively on the front page," he continued, passing the paper to the blond.

Draco read the paper, while Harry ate the tea and toast that Mappy had brought him. They sat together in happy silence, and Narcissa, spying them through the French doors, smiled to see them so comfortable in each other's company. She walked out to the garden.

"Good morning Harry, Dragon," she said to them. At the mention of her pet name for him, Draco smiled.

"I'm afraid you'll have to share the use of that name now, mother," he said.

"With Mr Potter?" she asked, knowing full well it wasn't likely to be anyone else.

'Yes, um," Harry said, noting that she had used his surname and hoping desperately that she wasn't offended. "Er, you don't mind, do you?"

Narcissa laughed. Harry was just too easy to wind up, she thought. "Of course not, Harry," she said. "After all, if you two get married, I will have to share him."

Harry smiled, relieved, until she continued, "do you have a date yet?"

Draco looked at his fiancé. "Arthur Weasley did give me a rundown of the term dates," he said. "He seemed to think that the twenty-sixth of September would be a good date. Did you put him up to that?"

Harry went very red. "The other way round, really. Arthur said if we wanted to have some formal ceremony, a week to get organised and a week to relax afterwards might work best; so the middle weekend of our first holidays was indicated."

"And very sound thinking, too," Narcissa commented. "Will you have the bonding here?"

"May we?" Draco asked.

"Of course!" she replied, her face blossoming into happiness at the thought of organising her son's wedding. "I would be overjoyed!"

And so Harry found his wedding all sorted out for him. And if he felt railroaded into it by both of his families, he decided to keep his mouth shut; the look of joy on his future mother-in-law's face was too precious to risk.

-#-

Narcissa had decided that she couldn't keep the news to herself; she had Floo-called Molly, and the two of them spent the rest of the morning shut up in Narcissa's study, no doubt plotting The Wedding, as Harry had begun to think of it, in definite capital letters. Lucius was in his own study, busy with some project that appeared to require Auror input, as two of them were in there with him.

"Shall we go flying?" Draco suggested.

Harry thought about this at great length; it took him all of a quarter of a second to accept the offer.

Harry found it impossible not to compare the feeling of flying with the feeling he had had two nights before. There was definitely the same sense of being free from the world; but now he didn't feel that sense of being all alone. The loneliness was replaced by an incredible feeling that he was here with Draco, who held half his heart, and it felt so right, so good, that he cried with happiness, and the wind whipped away his tears and his face smarted and he felt so alive! To be flying with his love was the most wonderful thing. He felt his heart would almost burst with joy; he never wanted it to end.

He gazed over at his lover to find the same feelings of life, and love, and fierce joy reflected in the silver eyes.

And so they missed lunch; but neither minded at all.

-#-

When they had finished flying, and enjoyed each other's company in a very luxuriant shower, they found the three adults having afternoon tea at the table in the cottage garden.

"Do join us," Narcissa invited, levitating cups of tea towards them.

As he received his cup, a thought struck Draco.

"Mother," he said, "I seem to remember that I was promised a present when I came over last night …"

Narcissa arched an eyebrow. "And the party was not present enough?" she asked.

He looked at her, and there was no need for words; the look said 'NO' louder than words could have.

She smiled at him, a thoughtful smile. The insistence on presents was a little childish, certainly; but secretly, she was pleased that he was getting over the need to always act like a grown-up.

"Well, we do have something for you, but I'm not sure you'll think of it as a present," she said.

He looked puzzled. Lucius turned to the other two. "Will you excuse us for a few minutes?" he asked.

Of course, they said yes, and the three Malfoys went into the house.

"It's a beautiful garden, Harry," Molly said, looking around; it had been lovely at night, lit up by Neville's amazing flowers; but now, on a summer's day, it came into its own: a simple, down-to-earth, English garden. They both stood up and wandered around, admiring the different plants, taking in the scents, and just allowing the peace of the place to seep into them.

"I do hope last night's events haven't tainted the garden, Harry," Lucius observed, as the Malfoys returned.

"Not at all," the raven-haired man replied. "They make it even more special; this is the place where the most wonderful man in the world showed everyone just how brave he is."

Molly smiled at the soppiness, while Draco made a face. But he couldn't really be angry with Harry. It was mushy enough for a Hufflepuff, yes; but his fiancé had said it, and Draco knew that, while he was teasing, at root he meant it.

"So, what was the present?" Harry asked him.

"Well," the blond replied, "it is a present; but it's really a present for you." He produced a small box, and inside was an exquisite ring, fashioned in platinum, with rubies and emeralds. "You asked me, Harry, but I want to ask you too. Will you marry me?"

And Harry gave Draco the same answer he had received two days earlier: he picked up the ring and put it on his finger.

"It's a Malfoy heirloom," Draco explained, "and it is the ring my father gave my mother."

Harry looked at Narcissa and Lucius, incredulity in his eyes at the thought of how much it meant that they had given Draco this to give to him. He really was speechless this time!

-#-

"So, will you come, then?" Molly asked Narcissa, obviously continuing a previous conversation.

To his wife's evident surprise, it was Lucius who answered. "We'd love to," he said.

And they did: for the first time in living memory, the Malfoys dined at the Burrow that night. And the world continued to spin on its axis, and the building didn't fall down, even when Lucius, who had heard of the Bouncy Beating Challenge, insisted on fighting against the twins. Draco was astonished to see his father in such a good mood; even when George bested him, he gave in graciously, congratulated the victorious Weasley, transfigured one of the silver buttons on his blazer into a small silver cup, and presented him with it, saying that a Weasley beating a Malfoy was a rare occasion deserving to be marked in some way.

Draco guessed that his meeting with the Aurors must have gone very well; and he was not wrong. Some of the light in Lucius's eyes was the simple joy of the sport; but more than a little was because of the plans he had for Monday. He was beholden to Harry Potter to protect him, and he had identified two menaces that needed dealing with.

One had been bested the previous evening.

The other's punishment was about to begin.

-#-

** _AUTHOR'S NOTES:  
_**_Grateful th__anks__ as always to Bicky Monster for another job well done!__  
__The chapter title is pointing to Blaise and Theo returning to their friends in freedom, while MacNair and Yaxley will be returning to their friends in Azkaban ...  
_

**_Facebook: _**_In a blatant attempt to steal ideas from you all, I've set up a page called 'Achilles The Geek', feel free to 'like' it._

___**Other locations:** You can also find this story on archiveofourown dot org._

___**Thanks:** to _all who are following and favoriting! Gives me a lovely warm feeling that you're interested. And double thanks with treacle tart to those who , reviews are much appreciated. 

_****__Replies: __I do reply individually, but I also feel you should be acknowledged (and maybe other people want to know my answers to your questions too!). Please do log in to comment, I enjoy responding individually. It certainly seems like a cliffhanger is a good way to get comments!  
_

_**Belldandy55555**: Welcome! Oh yes I can ... :^)_

_**Mayle**: OH YES! But all good now, I hope!_

_**IamACritic**: Indeed!_

_**Cherrie**-**san**: Mwah hah hah. You were right, though, about the shield, though not about Narcissa. _

_**MirrorFlower and DarkWind:** I'm not evil, just misunderstood ;-_

_**KillJoy7772**: It is a tremendous honour that I have managed to leave your heart on the floor with my mere words! I'd apologise for the angst, but it would be rather insincere! No, Blaise isn't a bastard, as we now know. And I think the rest of your questions have now resolved themselves, so I hope you have some new ones!_

_**emice**: Nice to hear from you again, and I'm glad you're still reading. I guess I don't mind telling you that Harry is not pregnant. But keep it secret, OK? ... Oh ... _

_**zero-amu:** Welcome! I hope the reveal was worth the excitement! _  
_[I guess they are gonna take turns topping each other OwO?] Time will tell!_


	34. The Elder Wand Makes a Return Appearance

**34 The Elder Wand Makes a Return Appearance**

Twenty-four hours after being caught, Marcus Flint was still livid with rage. Not that it had done him the slightest bit of good. To begin with, he had been taken to an initial holding cell that was even smaller than the pigsty they had had the gall to incarcerate him in for the previous week; he had yelled and whined and raged and demanded "acceptable accommodation", and once he had yelled himself hoarse, the Auror in charge had looked in on him, said, "tough", and left him alone again.

After that he had appeared before a summary hearing to decide his immediate fate. He had expected to be asked to plead his case, or given a chance to explain, or **something**.

But the senior Auror charge had simply looked him up and down, and asked, "Marcus Flint?"

Shocked at the complete lack of interest in the man's voice, Marcus had snarled "yes". Before Flint could say anything else, the Auror, not even bothering to look up from his paperwork, had lazily said just two more things.

"Silencio. 14B."

They were the last words he had heard. The two Aurors at his sides had simply picked him up and carried him bodily to his new cell, not saying a word. The Silencio had, quite literally, shut him up; he had not been able to make a sound since. Even his fists beating on the door seemed to have no effect. Certainly, no-one seemed to pay him any notice. And as for the cell …

When he had first been imprisoned, the cell he was in contained a three-foot wide cot, with a hard, lumpy mattress on it; a toilet; and a washbasin, in a space perhaps three metres square. He had regarded it with total contempt at the time. The other inmates, for there was mesh they could talk through, and exercise yards, had told him to be glad he wasn't on level 14, and he had sneered, "how could it be worse than this?"

Now he knew. The cot in his new room was two feet wide, six feet long and took up at least a third of the floor space. He couldn't complain about the mattress; there wasn't one. The walls were oppressive, solid, and painted a soul-sapping grey. The room was damp, and cold, and poorly lit. There was, quite simply, nothing to do, and no hope of change. His prison record would read that he had made no complaint; how could he, as he had no voice?

He sat, and thought over the events of the previous day, which proved rather difficult for him; thinking was not really his strong suit, as the fact that he had failed his exams the first time gave testimony to. Over and over again, he returned to the same questions.

What had gone wrong? Yaxley was so clever. He had it all planned out. Blaise had assured them that the traitor would be alone. How had the Aurors known what they were up to? They hadn't seemed to have a clue when he was there before. Blaise had told them that Potter's spell wasn't strong enough to unmask the dark Aurors. How had Malfoy survived? He should have been destroyed. How had Potter got to him so quickly? He had been on the step.

It took a while, but eventually it dawned on him that he shouldn't trust what Blaise said. But the man had taken veritaserum? He couldn't lie, surely? Unless he was dark enough to have taken … No, surely not, only a few people knew about that. He must have told the truth. And anyway, what he said about the wards was true, they had let them in.

It was only after he had sat on the cot for the whole day that he realised the truth: Blaise had indeed told them the truth. A carefully constructed truth. A truth designed to lead them astray. The traitor **had** been alone. _As far as Blaise knew_. They must have had a plan he deliberately wasn't told about. The spell **wasn't** strong enough to unmask their confederates. _But it gave them enough clues to work it out_. The wards **did** let them in. _Because it was a trap …_

All in a rush, Flint realised that he had been duped. Outplayed. He felt shame; and the shame fuelled his anger, and a cold hatred grew in his heart: a hatred for Potter, the goody-two-shoes; and the Malfoys, the treacherous family; and most of all for Blaise Zabini, the man who had betrayed them in the end.

He sat there and his rage boiled around him. Of course, it did him no good; he had no magic, no voice, no hope. But he held onto the anger fiercely. He had to; the only alternative was to despair.

_Monday 8 June 1998_

The letter from the Wizengamot arrived while Harry and Draco were sitting at breakfast. It began directly enough but then tailed off into impenetrability, as formal missives will: 'Mr Harry James Potter and Mr Draco Lucius Malfoy are requested to attend a meeting of the Wizengamot at ten o'clock this very morning in Courtroom Ten for the purpose of assisting the Court in discovering the facts of incidents relating to the behaviour of one Marcus Flint, with particular reference to …" and the letter had continued for an entire page with mind-numbing jargon, becoming more and more convoluted. But the intent was clear: the Wizengamot wanted to interview them about the two attacks on Draco that Flint had been part of. And it was equally clear that, while the letter might be phrased as a polite request, it was in fact nothing of the kind: their presence was obligatory.

Arthur Weasley had Floo-called them a little before nine, rather apologetic that they had only been given two hours' notice of the meeting. He invited them to come through so that they could discuss how things lay beforehand; which they were both pleased to do. It was all a bit sudden, and they were eager to find out why things were moving so quickly, given that nothing had happened to Marcus during the previous week.

Accordingly, they Flooed into Arthur's office at ten past nine, and were offered tea and biscuits, which they accepted. Draco looked a little put out, and Harry guessed it was a the lack of cream cakes, but decided to say nothing. His lover was tense enough already. And they didn't really need cream cakes at nine o'clock in the morning, especially after the bacon and eggs they had had for breakfast.

"Now," Arthur said, once they were seated, "I suppose you're wondering why this is happening so suddenly."

They were, so they simply nodded and let him get on with it.

"The Wizengamot has been preparing the case against Flint rather aggressively, and were ready to bring him to trial on Wednesday of last week. Given your suspicions that Yaxley would attack at Draco's party, and that Flint might be part of the attack, we specifically asked for a delay; now that the weekend is over, the Wizengamot has decided it needs to expedite the trial, especially as we also arrested two Aurors on Saturday night."

"What?" Draco asked.

"There were two Aurors who helped Flint escape. They thought that we hadn't discovered them, as the Signum Revelare didn't make their hidden Dark marks burn. But we did detect them, so they were under observation, and their actions had not gone unnoticed, as they thought; on the contrary, we took them into custody only minutes after the party started, and they have been held _incommunicado _ever since. The Wizengamot, understandably, is not happy about imprisoning them like this without trial; so the whole thing will be examined today."

Draco still looked confused. Harry spoke up, remembering that the details of the party had been kept a secret.

"Sorry, Arthur, you'd better explain fully. You must remember that we didn't tell Draco about the party, as it was a surprise." This wasn't entirely true, but the Deputy Minister didn't need to know that. "So all he knows about what Blaise did is the little bit that I was able to tell him while the shield was protecting us; which was really to reassure him that Blaise was never a traitor."

"Fair enough," Arthur replied. "Well, as Harry says, Blaise was always on our side, and we used him to manipulate Yaxley. I must say, he did an amazing job. We knew that Yaxley couldn't get Blaise to attack you, because Blaise had told him that. We knew he would want to use someone else he could trust, and suspected, rightly, that he'd want to use Flint if he could get him, since Flint had already attacked you and probably had nothing to lose by doing so again. That's why we decided to keep him in the Ministry cells, so it would be relatively easy for Yaxley to get to him, given that we knew he controlled two Aurors. And that's exactly how it turned out; which made things much simpler for our teams. After all, it's much easier to keep tabs on what the enemy is up to if you've pushed him into doing what you want."

Draco thought about this, and nodded as he understood, and admired, the subtlety of the Ministry strategy.

"Yaxley and MacNair, of course, were taken straight to Azkaban; their guilt had already been conclusively established, and they had been tried and found guilty _in absentia_, so there was no need for any further process."

"I would be interested to know," Harry chipped in, "why they used those three spells. They used the same three at the Memorial service, so it must be deliberate."

"Interesting," Arthur said, "I don't know if anyone had made the connection, But now, it's half past nine, we should go."

-#-

When they reached Courtroom Ten, Arthur bade them farewell.

"I'm afraid I can't stay today," he said, apologetically. "Apart from having a job of my own, the Ministry doesn't want the impartiality of the Wizengamot to be questioned, and the Prophet has been giving dark hints about me always being present; so Kingsley and I agreed we'd both best sit this trial out."

There were two men waiting for them outside the courtroom. Arthur waved to them, inviting them to come over by gesture, as he continued, "so I shall leave you in the capable hands of two men you know well: Auror Tom Godwin, and Dempster Wiggleswade from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Dempster will be covering the trial for the Prophet, I believe?" The question was aimed at Wiggleswade, who nodded in response. "But as ever we shall vet the copy. Moreover, the Ministry has asked him to take notes with a view to writing an official history of the wizarding war; so he may wish to interview you both in that capacity."

Harry groaned inwardly, but was careful not to let his displeasure show on his face. He knew something like this would have to be done; and if anyone had to do it, Wiggleswade was a good candidate. His prose was a little dry, but he stuck to the facts and reported them fairly.

To Harry's surprise, Dempster congratulated them both warmly on their engagement.

"Thank you, sir," he replied; but Dempster told him not to mention it.

"In fact, you might as well get used to it," he said, and as they walked in, Harry saw why: all of the members of the Wizengamot were wearing badges that said 'Congratulations!' It was an amazingly silly gesture which brought tears to both boys' eyes.

"Welcome, Mr Potter, Mr Malfoy" the Chief Warlock began. "May we extend our warmest congratulations on the occasion of your engagement?"

"Thank you, sir," Harry and Draco replied in unison, but the Wizengamot drowned them out as everyone cried out "hear, hear!"

'Yes, well, you've had your fun, Elphias, can we get back to business now?" Borage asked, snarky as ever; but Harry could see the smile fighting to come out at the edges of his mouth and knew it was a front.

"Very well," Doge replied, and waved his wand. Each of the badges was transfigured back into the silver W that identified the wearer as a member of the Wizengamot; it was clear that that was what the badges had started as.

Doge turned to address Draco, "Mr Malfoy, I must extend our thanks to you, particularly, for coming today; I appreciate that your memories of this room will not be particularly pleasant, and I hope that our little prank may help you to see that, while the business of this chamber is indeed serious, we do have our lighter moments. Now, Clerk of Court, kindly open the proceedings."

With that, the Clerk stood up and gave his usual dry announcement of the day's proceedings. The Wizengamot settled down to the trial, which turned out to be a very short event indeed. It did not take long to establish Flint's guilt, given the number of eyewitnesses. And his testimony was very sparse: he had been told what to do, and he had done it. He hadn't been told why, nor had he asked. But that wasn't all that Harry and Draco wanted to know. Once more, Harry asked Flint the question from Saturday night:

"Why attack Draco?"

Flint stood, trying to maintain a dumb insolence. But the eyes of the Wizengamot members bored into him, and he found himself unable to refrain from speaking.

"It was never him I wanted," he replied. Then, through clenched teeth, he added, "I wanted power! I wanted magic! I wanted … the Elder wand."

"You mean this?" Harry asked, producing the wand from the sleeve of his robe.

"You carry it with you?" Wiggleswade asked, evidently amazed that Harry would cart such an important wand around so nonchalantly. "Surely you don't use it all the time!"

"Yes, I carry it with me," Harry answered. "Just so no-one else can get their hands on it. Not that it would do them any good. Permit me to demonstrate?"

The question was asked to Doge, who nodded his approval.

"Thank you," Harry said, returning the nod. "Marcus, let's see what you can do with this."

And, to a shocked audience, with a wave of his hand he cancelled the magic restraining Flint, and handed the stick of elder to him.

Flint was no less shocked than anyone else. He took the wand and swished it. Nothing happened. He cast Lumos. Still nothing.

Harry took it back off him, and swished it himself, and also spoke "Lumos". And still, nothing happened.

"You see?" he said, to the incredulous Flint. "After the events at Hogwarts, it seems that all of the power has gone from it."

Flint looked sick, and angry, and deflated, all at once. He practically fell back into his seat with surprise. And he wasn't the only one; the entire Wizengamot was silent as well.

"You mean … all the time I listened to Yaxley, all the work I did to get hold of that wand was useless?"

"I'm afraid so," Harry said, as two Aurors came to take him into custody. "I'm sorry, Marcus."

"Don't you call me that, Potter!" the prisoner snarled. "I still don't want your pity!" And with that, he was led away; and, as though this were a signal, every member of the Wizengamot seemed to start speaking at once, and the din rose high as people were yelling questions at Harry, musing out loud, or, most counterproductive at all, yelling to their neighbours to be quiet. Eventually, Doge, his patience clearly stretched to breaking point, called for quiet; but even his authority was seriously tested, and he had to cast a Sonorus charm to be heard above the hubbub.

"My dear witches and wizards, please, calm yourselves" he said, the mildness of the words belied by a tone of steel. "I'm sure we're all most eager to know exactly what is going on here. Mr Potter, are you telling us that that is the Elder wand, from the legend about Death and the Three Brothers?"

"Yes sir," Harry answered as he stood up before the court.

"And it is no longer effective?" Doge continued.

"Yes sir."

"And can you explain this?"

"No sir," Harry said, regretfully. "I didn't even notice myself exactly when it happened; but I tried to use it a week after the battle of Hogwarts, and it had no power then."

"Extraordinary," Doge said. "I think we would all be interested in discovering the answer to this mystery?"

"I believe we need an expert," an elderly wizard Harry didn't know piped up. "I wonder if Mr Ollivander is available?"

"Capital idea," Doge said. "Mr Potter, would you consent to the Wizengamot seeking the assistance of Garrick Ollivander in this matter? It is, after all, your wand now."

"I think that is a brilliant idea," Harry agreed. "I'd really like to know what happened. If the wand truly has no power then we can tell everyone and stop people like Flint from attacking."

"Still not your fault," a voice said behind him. Harry smiled and reached over to his lover, twining their fingers together.

"Thank you," he said quietly to Draco. Then he turned back to Doge. "Will Mr Malfoy be welcome to stay as well?"

"Yes, of course," the Chief Warlock said warmly. "So, members, do we all concur in inviting Mr Ollivander to this chamber?"

The buzz around the room was definitely one of agreement, and a recess was called, during which the elderly wand-maker would be called and invited to assist the Wizengamot. During the interval, Harry and Draco were invited to join the members for luncheon, which was served in the room they used for morning tea. At lunch, by common consent, conversation was kept entirely away from the subjects of the day.

Harry was concerned that Draco might be overlooked; he had specifically asked about him being present because he had rather got the impression that Draco's evidence had been nearly irrelevant, given the speed with which Flint had been found guilty; and that the Wizengamot was no longer interested in him, but only in Harry. His lover did not deserve to be treated merely as an hanger-on to him, and he looked around to see what could be done about it. But his fears proved groundless: as soon as they entered the room, Libatious Borage called Draco over to him, and the two sat and ate together, spending the entire hour's recess deep in conversation.

Eventually they were recalled to the chamber, where they found Ollivander waiting for them, his eyes sparkling with obvious interest to be consulted by the body. Harry wondered how much he had been told. He also wondered exactly what Draco and Borage had discussed, but there was no time for that; as soon as they were seated, Doge asked Harry to produce the Elder wand.

A table had been set in the middle of the chamber, and Harry approached it, drawing the wand. As the wand was revealed, the light in Ollivander's eyes glowed fiercely, and he almost pounced on it when it was offered to him.

"The Elder wand," he whispered, though his voice was clearly audible as everyone else was quite silent in the chamber, watching his every move. "So it really does exist."

Like Harry and Marcus Flint before him, he cast Lumos with the wand. Or tried to; as before, nothing happened when he did so. This did not seem to deter him in the least, however; he cast a few more charms, and, seeing that nothing worked, picked up a bag that he had placed inconspicuously next to the table and took out a set of scales and weighed the wand, making some careful notes on a piece of parchment that he took from an old pocketbook he evidently always carried with him. Seemingly satisfied, he took out some very strange pieces of equipment from the bag, and proceeded to carry out what were obviously highly specialised observations on the wand. A couple of them produced lights of various colours, which he noted down very carefully on his parchment. As he worked, his face was a picture of concentration; but from time to time he made strange little noises, which nearly always sounded either extremely pleased or very shocked indeed.

After perhaps half an hour of this procedure, he put the wand down on the table, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. He then opened his eyes, which Harry could see were shining in excitement, and turned to the chamber.

"Well, Mr Ollivander," Doge intoned, "are you ready to give us your findings?"

"I am," the wandmaker replied, and adopted a didactic tone. "In examining a wand, it is essential to begin at the beginning, cataloging each fact about it, proceeding with caution and care. Here is a wand, made of Elder, fifteen inches in length, with a Thestral tail-hair core. The wand is perfectly weighted; a firm grip is easy to establish and maintain, the wood pliant enough to accept being held, but not so springy as to need an excessive grip. The manufacture is exquisite; the core has been bonded to the wand perfectly, and the wood and core tuned with sufficient skill to indicate that the wandmaker was truly first-class. There is no evidence of defect or decay whatever in the wood of the wand. Normally this would be evidence of recent manufacture, but it is clear that this is not the case here; the spells that I cast to discover its age were completely defeated, meaning that its maker managed to imbue it with a longevity charm to never show age in any way during its existence. There is therefore nothing whatever that would give a true indication of the wand's age."

"And is it the Elder wand?" Dalmatea Merrythought, sitting next to Doge as usual, and turning fascinated eyes on Ollivander, asked.

"Well that is the question!" was the testy reply. "All that we know of the Elder wand leads me to say yes," the wandmaker answered. "Which is to say, it is made of elder, and the right length, and the core matches the legend. Moreover, it once held more power than any wand, perhaps than any two wands together, that I have ever possessed or known of. So, if the elder wand is real, which, as Mr Potter knows, I believe it to be, then there is every chance that this is it. Of course, we should consider its provenance and history to be certain – that is, how did this wand come to be here? Who had it last? Can we find a chain going back to a known, or suspected, possessor of the elder wand?"

"Fascinating questions, no doubt, to one in your line of business," Borage remarked acidly. "But it is now useless?"

Ollivander glared at him, clearly not wishing to be rushed.

"There is no doubt in my mind, witches and wizards, that this was once a wand of truly exceptional power. I have certainly never made, or known, a wand with the power that this wand possessed. But yes, that power has been removed. And that makes this the most exciting day in my life for many a year. Wands normally only lose their power when they are used in a duel and their wizard is completely destroyed. But that cannot have happened here; it would require another wand with even greater power than this one had, and if any such wand existed, we would certainly know about it. No, there is a great mystery here."

He turned to Harry, his eyes still showing the excitement of before, together with a rapacious thirst for knowledge.

"So, Mr Potter," he said, "you have set us a very pretty puzzle indeed. When we met last, under rather more humble circumstances" - here Draco blushed at the memory of Ollivander's incarceration at the Manor – "you told me that Voldemort was after this wand, and would certainly take it from Dumbledore's grave. What can you tell us of its history since then? And do you know how Dumbledore came by it?"

Harry stood, and began to tell of the history of the wand, as he knew it. He went back to Albus Dumbledore's possession of it, recounting what the headmaster had told him of the duel he had had with Gellert Grindelwald in 1945 and how mastery of the Elder Wand had passed to him at that point. He explained how it was that Draco Malfoy came, briefly, to be its master (which made his lover gasp; Harry was secretly delighted to have been able to do so, the first time he had seen Draco really, completely, shocked into silence); and then the day at the Manor when, without anyone knowing it, not even him, Harry Potter himself became master of the wand.

He told how Voldemort had mistakenly assumed that the wand passed by killing, while in fact it only cared about strength; and that because of this error, Voldemort believed that Snape was the master of the wand, a fact that had proved fatal, both for the Potions Master, as Voldemort had had Nagini kill him; and for Voldemort himself, as the wand did not give him the absolute mastery he had expected.

"So that's it," Garrick Ollivander interrupted, evidently excited by something. "The first law!"

"The first law?" Borage asked, clearly interested, despite his earlier comment.

"The first law of wandlore: the wand chooses the wizard. The Elder wand chooses, not the wizard who kills, but the wizard who is strong. It chose Mr Malfoy because he disarmed Dumbledore; and then Mr Potter because he won the allegiance of Mr Malfoy's wand; a ten-inch hawthorn, if I remember aright?"

Draco nodded, not altogether surprised; Ollivander was famous for remembering every wand he ever sold.

"That's why the wand wouldn't kill you, Mr Potter," the wandmaker continued. "And why the Avada Kedavra he cast killed him, even though you only repelled it with an Expelliarmus. You didn't repel the spell at all; you merely reminded the wand who was its master, and it did the rest."

Harry, respecting the wizard's age and expertise, waited for him to finish his little digression, and then spoke about the events of the morning he had given Draco his wand back. He told them of the spell Voldemort had put on Draco and Lucius through their Dark marks, to bind their magic so they couldn't betray him. And that when he died, Draco's magic was locked away. He told of the anger that had been kindled inside him that Voldemort would do such a thing. How he had no idea how to stop it, no clue what spells would be required to break the curse. And how, not knowing what else to do, he had laid the elder wand on Draco's wand and spoken the only words that came: "Life … Wholeness ... Connection ... Belonging …"

"Fascinating," Ollivander said.

"Do you have an idea, Garrick?" Borage asked him.

"It seems," the wandmaker replied, "that Mr Potter somehow got hold of the magic inherent in the wand itself. That what he did was not so much to cast a spell as to pour out the wand's magic itself." He fixed his eyes keenly on Harry. "But there must be something more. The wand itself was not enough; not only were Mr Malfoy and his father released from the curse, but I hear a rumour that, at the same time, Mr Frederick Weasley came back from the dead. Is that not so? Did you do that too, Mr Potter?"

"Yes it is true," Harry agreed, speaking slowly, seeking the right words. "But I didn't do it. Or at least, I didn't try to do it. Perhaps it was an accident?"

Harry was, in truth, rather amazed that no-one had tackled him on this question at any time in the preceding five weeks; but that didn't make it any easier to answer, especially as his answer here would become known to the whole of the Wizengamot today and the whole wizarding world tomorrow. He thought back to Saturday the first of May, as he stood there, shaking with rage that anyone would seek to destroy a fellow wizard in the way that Voldemort had done to Draco and Lucius. He remembered:

_The wand in his right hand started to glow with hot magic. Clearly it knew what was needed, even if he didn't. He felt something hard Apparate into his left hand, and then the two wizards were suddenly engulfed in a huge cloud of white light. It hit the column, which crumbled to dust at its touch, and then spread out throughout the Hall._

And as he thought, he realised that was all he actually remembered at the time; he had then fallen into an exhausted stupor, and wound up sitting on Draco's lap … He pulled himself away from that memory rather viciously. Not really the time or place to dwell on **that** memory, he told himself.

No, it was only later that he realised it was the Resurrection Stone he held. So, was he going to mention it? _NO WAY!_ A voice shrieked in his mind, and he completely agreed with it. He told them of the light, and the column, and the falling unconscious; but the stone, no, no-one needed to know about that. It was enough that the Wizarding world was aware that the Elder wand existed; the stone was surely the more dangerous of the two. For the wand gave power, but the stone could give information, knowledge from the dead. Who knew what could be discovered and how that knowledge might be used?

When he finished, there was another general hubbub as people expounded theories. Once again, it got too much for Doge, who demanded quiet.

Once he had got the members under control again, he spoke in his usual mild tones: "it seems rather stupid to have invited such an eminent professional as Mr Ollivander to this chamber and then not to listen to his advice." He turned to the wand-maker and asked, with grave and gentle courtesy, "would you be kind enough to give us your summation of Mr Potter's remarks, please?"

"It has long been believed that the wand was stolen from the wandmaker Gregorovitch," Garrick began, speaking very deliberately and pedagogically. "From Mr Potter's testimony, we have a clear line of possession from Gellert Grindelwald, who I am convinced was the thief, as it is known that he suddenly became very powerful indeed; through Albus Dumbledore, Draco Malfoy, and Mr Potter himself. As he now holds the wand, and is able to produce it, I think there now can be no doubt that this is indeed the Elder wand of legend."

"Then, it is clear that the wand, which once possessed great power, no longer does. Quite how is still somewhat of a mystery to me; but it is clear that Mr Potter used it to perform some very powerful magic: he released the imprisoned magic of two wizards, magic that had been locked away by Dark Magic performed by one of the greatest proponents of the Dark Arts who ever lived; and he also seems, _accidentally_, to have managed to bring back a wizard from the dead."

Here Ollivander, having stressed 'accidentally' very heavily, fixed Harry with another stare, but Harry just looked back at him blankly.

"Well," the wand-maker continued, "Mr Potter is unable to provide any further explanation; but of course it is unfair to expect it. What he did was completely unprecedented, so there's no reason why he would be better placed to explain how it happened than anyone else. We are left with the inescapable facts that Mr Potter performed three amazing feats of magic, using the power of the Elder wand; and that that wand no longer retains its power. Can we conclude that the power was all used up in the acts of magic?"

Ollivander's style might be a little dry, and his voice rather monotonous; but at this point, he had all of the attention of his listeners. No sound other than his voice filled the chamber; the storyteller might be unskilled at rhetoric, but it didn't matter, they were all fascinated with the story.

"Here, the safe answer has to be, we don't know," Ollivander continued, and his audience let out a collective sigh at the cliched conclusion. "It would be so simple, so convenient, to say 'yes, the Elder wand no longer has power, and never will have again'. And in fact, I think that is true. But whether its power was destroyed, or has been moved into some other object, or has met some other fate, there I fear we must still keep an open mind."

Before anyone else could, Doge spoke. "Thank you, Mr Ollivander, for that masterly summation. And there, I fear, we must let the matter rest. Unless anyone has anything further to add?"

No-one did.

-#-

** _AUTHOR'S NOTES:  
_**_Grateful th__anks__ as always to Bicky Monster for another job well done!__ This chapter took rather a bit of licking into shape, and a chunk has been cut out and may appear in chapter 36.  
_

**_Facebook: _**_In a blatant attempt to steal ideas from you all, I've set up a page called 'AchillesTheGeek', feel free to 'like' it._

___**Other locations:** You can also find this story on archiveofourown dot org._

___**Thanks:** to _all who are following and favoriting! Gives me a lovely warm feeling that you're interested. And double thanks and cookies from McGonagall's jar to those who review.

_****__Replies: __I do reply individually, but I also feel you should be acknowledged (and maybe other people want to know my answers to your questions too!). Please do log in to comment, I enjoy responding individually. _

**___IamACritic, MirrorFlower and DarkWind: _**___Thanks!_

**___Killjoy7772: _**_____Don't see why you should be sorry; I've slowed down too, and for the same reason.  
- [Skeeter?] Nice? No, not really, just completely brow-beaten. But she's going to use the interview as leverage with Cuffe, don't worry.  
- [Move in?] To Hogwarts? Beginning of July, though I'd said that.  
- [Who's going to bond Draco and Harry?] You mean officiate? The Minister, I think.  
- [Black Manor] Grimmauld Place proceeds slowly; by Friday, all the public areas were done, I said that in Ch31. (As you may recall, Draco said it was good enough for a party. With presents.)  
- [Are Ron and Hermoine ever getting back?] Ron and Hermione are scheduled to return on 20 June. Ch33 has us up to 7 June._


	35. Lucius Returns to the Fray

**35 Lucius Returns to the Fray**

_Monday 8 June 1998_

Lucius Malfoy was rather pleased with himself as he Flooed to the London office he had persuaded the Ministry to allow him to keep. A little over three weeks ago, he'd been on trial for his life; now he was definitely getting that life back on track. The Ministry was starting to listen to him again; more, to seek out his help. And he was careful to always give the best help he could, always to appear patient, and reasonable, and to listen, and present a humble persona. Of course, there were those who still didn't trust him; but the Minister was not one of them, and that meant a lot. With the Minister onside, a good deal of bad feeling could simply be manipulated out of his way.

And, of course, he had Harry Potter on his side, and there was absolutely no doubt that that counted for even more than the Minister's support. Especially as the Minister's was a little begrudged, while Harry was openly for the Malfoys. Well, for Draco, anyway. But he was getting the Malfoy name in the papers in a positive light, and Lucius would take that any day. Even though he had received plenty of angry letters and howlers about it; there were those who cursed him for turning Harry dark; those who claimed, despite the medical examination Harry had had, that the Malfoys had him under Imperius, or a love potion, or some other control; and those who berated him for allowing such an ungodly state of affairs in his family. He didn't actually read any of it, though; like Draco, he had simply set up a charm to reply to all the letters. He hadn't bothered to distinguish the interesting from the uninteresting; everyone he didn't know personally who sent him a complaining letter got a polite reply to the effect that Draco was of age, and what his son and his son's lover did in bed was neither his business nor the writer's.

He was dressed impeccably, as always on his infrequent forays into the Muggle world; his pin-stripe suit was elegantly understated and would not have looked out of place in any City boardroom. Many wizards had no ideas about Muggle clothing; Lucius was not one of them. There was no way that a Malfoy was going to wear anything but the best, the most fashionable, the most impressive.

He smiled as the limousine that would take him down to Surrey arrived right on time at ten thirty. The Ministry was at last getting the message that they had to make an impact on the Muggles. He could see two men in the car; the driver was wearing a smart uniform, and the man sitting in the back seat was dressed in a simple grey suit. His smile grew even wider as the man who was to be his chauffeur for the day got out and opened the door for him.

"Morning, Mr Malfoy," the man said. "I suggested that if I came as your driver today, and Mr Proudfoot as your personal assistant, we wouldn't need a separate Auror detail as well. I trust that is in order?"

"An excellent idea, if I may say so, Mr Banks," Lucius replied. "I may say I am very pleased to have the two of you with me today."

"Thank you," the Auror replied. "Please, do feel free to call me Robin – I think the first name might work better as I am your chauffeur?" he asked with a smile.

"Very well, Robin," said Lucius. He could see why Harry and Draco sang the praises of this man so loudly – he was positively devious, for an Auror. "You do both understand what I intend?"

"Oh, I think so, sir," Toby replied from inside the car. "And I may say, you have our full support."

"I'm delighted to hear that," Lucius said, as he finally entered the car and took his seat. And he meant it.

This was one luncheon engagement he was going to enjoy.

-#-

George Grunnings was not an exuberant man. His family hailed from Yorkshire, and he had inherited from his northern forebears both a rather gloomy outlook on life and the firm conviction that Yorkshire was the only place in the United Kingdom, if not the entire Universe, worth a second thought. Most people were too sensible to ask him why it was then that he had lived in Surrey for the last forty years. The starkly truthful answer was that in Yorkshire he would have been a nobody, working in the mines; the family had moved to London, where his father had started a building business and the young George had opened a small shop supplying various tools for him. That small shop had now moved to leafy Surrey and become Grunnings Drills, one of the major suppliers of drilling equipment to the building trade in the United Kingdom.

Which is how George, who had started life in a tiny one-bedroom mid-terrace house in the poorest street in Yorkshire, and grown up in the East End of London amongst that city's poorest, could now afford to live with his wife Betty in a five-bedroom detached house in one of the finer little villages in Surrey. And how he could afford to drive a very nice Jaguar motor car. And go on expensive holidays abroad twice a year. And eat his fish and chips in posh restaurants.

George had been born in nineteen thirty-four. His grandmother had been a fierce royalist, and his father, oddly for an otherwise one-eyed, strong-willed Yorkshireman, had bowed to her demands and named his first and only son after the then King, George V. Betty Bolton, later to be his wife, had been born four years later, by which time George VI was on the throne; her parents, also royalists, had named her for his wife, Queen Elizabeth, the former Lady Elizabeth Bowes-Lyons. When they met in nineteen fifty-five, his grandmother had been overjoyed at the happy accident of them having the same names as the now former King and Queen. George had been less happy about it; he hated the Monarchy and what he saw as the oppression of the poor that it represented. But he knew better than to say any such thing to his father or grandmother, and so smiled sweetly and went out with the young girl.

It turned out that, despite this rather inauspicious beginning, they had got on well together, and they now had a very happy marriage. George had been a good provider, and Betty had kept house very well. George liked to grumble, and Betty learnt early on to just tune him out, let him rant. All she had to do to have a peaceful life was to murmur occasionally and hand him a cup of tea every half-hour; and all was well.

His world was organised on getting up early and getting stuck into the day. Some days he would sit in the front room and read the paper; some days he'd go in to work, yell at his staff, and come home at dinnertime – which for him was twelve o'clock noon; he never referred to the meal at the middle of the day as 'lunch', that was for those posh bastards he had no time for – and, as often as not, potter in his garden, not bothering to go back to the office. Of course, he would grumble about work wasting his time and keeping him away from home; but the truth was that, despite his gruff exterior, he really loved his staff. Almost everyone at Grunnings had worked there for years; you had to stuff up royally to get fired by George Grunnings. Everyone in the building trade knew this; so being sacked from Grunnings, which didn't happen often, basically meant you had no future to speak of in the industry. And very few people resigned; they were well-paid, and looked after. Occasionally, someone would be poached; but as often as not, they would return after a brief sojourn elsewhere, and be welcomed back with open arms. This, George had learnt early on, was a rich source of information about what his competitors were up to; so he didn't stand in the way of people leaving, but encouraged their coming back.

There was just one new boy; last year, following a nasty scare that might have been a heart-attack, and might not, he had been told quite bluntly that unless he wanted Betty to be a widow within the year, he had to work less. So he had hired a new Managing Director. It went against the grain to bring in someone new at such a high level; but the obvious choice for the job had not been very reliable for the past year, so reluctantly he had brought in this Collings chap. He wasn't quite sure about the man; he seemed to be a bit of a cold fish. But he couldn't dispute that Collings had had a marked positive effect on the performance of the company, so he swallowed his slight misgivings about the man.

And in the middle of all this, in the last week something had happened to upset the even tenor of his life and give him pause. He had had an offer for the business. And not just 'an offer', he thought; this was 'An Offer'. If he accepted it, he would be set for life.

Uncharacteristically for the self-made man who kept everything close to his chest, he had discussed The Offer with Betty. At first, she was flummoxed that he would ask her anything about the business; but she had then asked some very pointed and pertinent questions, all of which largely boiled down to two: "What do you think you'll do with yourself if you don't go to work every day?" and "What will happen to the staff?"

He didn't have an answer for either of these questions. And they both had niggled at him over the weekend, so he had just about made up his mind. That posh suit was coming down from London today to talk about buying the business; George was going to let him take him (and Betty; the man had all but insisted on that) for an expensive meal and then send him away with a flea in his ear.

"Serves 'im right," he muttered to himself as he sat drinking his elevenses. "Coming down here with kiss-me-'and ways, expecting us all to kow-tow to 'im."

-#-

"PETUNIA!" the fat man roared. "WHERE ARE MY CUFF-LINKS?"

Petunia Dursley closed her eyes. It was going to be one of _those_ days. "Third drawer down, left hand side," she called out to him. _Where they've been for the last twenty years,_ she thought as she plated up his breakfast.

A minute later, Vernon Dursley stomped down the stairs and entered the kitchen, violently pushing the offending cuff-links through the button holes. She sighed and reached out to help him. He kissed her perfunctorily on the cheek, and sat down to his bacon, eggs and fried tomato. His wife heard the mail arrive, collected it, and sat next to him at her own breakfast of tea and toast, lightly buttered. As she did so, the front door opened, and Dudley, who was home from his boarding school, Smeltings Academy, for the rather late half-term holiday, came in from his morning jog.

This new son was taking some getting used to. Before, at half-term, they would be lucky to see him before lunch-time; it seemed like all he used to do was sleep, eat, and beat up The Freak, her nephew, Harry Potter. And, as she could see with the benefit of hindsight, get fatter and fatter, and less and less attractive. But now he was exercising, insisting on healthy meals, and had trimmed down to the point where he was now getting positive comments from the neighbourhood girls.

"Morning, Mum, Dad," he called, as he went upstairs to shower.

"Morning, dear," Petunia answered happily.

"Morning, Dudley," Vernon grunted. She could tell he hated this new Dudley. She strongly suspected that this dislike was largely jealousy; and in this suspicion she was entirely correct.

"So," she said, turning to her husband, and, taking stock of the care with which he had dressed, continued, placatingly, "you're looking very smart today, dear. Something special happening?"

"There's a rumour the Old Man might come in at three. Apparently he's got something big to announce."

"Ooh! Do you think he might get rid of Collings?" Petunia responded. 'The Old Man' was George Grunnings himself, the owner of Grunnings Drills, the company of which Vernon was now the Deputy Managing Director. He had been promoted to the role three weeks ago; but he had complained to her several times since then that he should have got Managing Director. That role had gone to a man he described as the 'hot-shot new boy', a man called Michael Collings whom Petunia had never met. Vernon blamed his failure to get the job on the fact that he'd had to be away from the office for so much time when they went into hiding just before The Freak's seventeenth birthday. Vernon had missed nearly two months of work, and even then they had been told not to return to the house, and had spent months in a cramped, uncomfortable, rented house in a vastly inferior neighbourhood.

All of this, of course, had not endeared Petunia's sister Lily Potter's son to either of the older Dursleys. But Dudley, who had only missed a few weeks of school, seemed to have been quite happy about it, and also seemed to have settled back a changed boy. The reports that came back were now praising him for 'stepping up and taking responsibility', which had made Vernon snigger and ask Dudley exactly what mischief he had been responsible for. Dudley had told his father, in an icy voice, that prefects didn't get into mischief, as he proudly showed off the new badge on his blazer. This surprise announcement produced strong, and quite different, responses from his parents. Petunia had cooed about how wonderful that her Dudders had been chosen for such an honour, while Vernon had exploded with rage; he had hated the prefects when he was at Smeltings and could not understand how his son did not feel the same way about them.

The atmosphere in the house had been rather frosty since then, and Petunia was getting a bit fed up with it. Of course, she blamed it all on The Freak, which is how she always referred to Harry; she was glad they had got the injunction, she only hoped he would abide by it. But, she worried, did wizards care for the law? They would have to, surely?

Vernon thought about her remark. _Get rid of Collings? _He hadn't considered that possibility; he'd just assumed the worst. Meetings with Grunnings seldom went very well. Perhaps this would be the exception?

"I don't know, dear," he said, warming to the thought, "but … I guess, he hasn't been performing very well recently, it's just possible. Let's hope so, shall we?"

And he left for work in a more positive frame of mind than he had had for a week.

Such a shame it wouldn't last …

-#-

Narcissa Malfoy sat at the table in Harry's garden, drinking her tea. This was fast becoming her favourite place in the Manor to sit and think; something of the incredible strength and love that filled the young man they had given it to seemed to have rubbed off on the place, and she felt surrounded by it every time she came here. It helped that it was new; in this place, unlike most of the Manor, there were no associations of the Dark Lord; no shadows of the past to haunt her; no memories of evil to suddenly rise up and attack her.

She opened the Prophet and read carefully. Half an hour later, she closed it again, puzzled and worried. Not that there was anything particularly troubling in the paper; far from it. But that was the problem. This was The Daily Prophet. A scurrilous gossip rag. There **should** be something troubling. They **should** be raking some muck. But it was all sweetness and light, and how wonderful the Hero was, and gush gush gush.

Narcissa didn't trust them. They were sitting on something, she was sure of it. They were waiting for … what? Some misstep, perhaps? Did they have something ready, just waiting for someone to make a false move? Would some accidental remark from Harry – she loved her son's lover, but she was well aware that he was no political animal; if anyone slipped up, it would be him – spark off a huge fire?

She shook her head. Maybe she was just becoming paranoid. But a little voice in her head told her the current happy reporting was too good to be true. And the little voice that said that was usually accurate …

-#-

Robin had no difficulty finding the Dorking High Street; and as their destination was not at all inconspicuous, they arrived in plenty of time for their luncheon. Once they had parked the car, Lucius suggested they stroll around to take stock of the place, and they walked up and down the High Street.

It only took ten minutes to convince Lucius that the place was every bit as ghastly as he had expected, and they returned to the restaurant that Grunnings had chosen. Happily, there was an adjacent bar, which was open, and alcohol is alcohol no matter who serves it, so Lucius and Toby Proudfoot sat nursing glasses of scotch. Lucius was delighted to discover that, like him, Proudfoot believed that the only thing one should add to good scotch is more of the same; he was a little disappointed, however, when Robin ordered a lemonade; Lucius cast a Muffliato to cover up their conversation, and asked him about it.

"Ah," the Auror replied, his eyes twinkling. He had noticed Lucius's surprise at his order, especially as Lucius was paying. "Toby and I don't mind drinking on duty, if it's part of the façade; but I think our Muggle friends will expect that your chauffeur would refrain from alcohol. Muggles, after all, don't have the benefit of charms to remove the effects of alcohol on their bodies."

Lucius thought about this, and mentally gave the man top marks for doing his homework. "You seem well up on Muggle ways?" he asked.

"My parents feel strongly that we ignore Muggles at our peril," Robin replied. "They may be weak; but there are lots of them. I know most wizards dismiss them, assuming we can just alter their memories if necessary; but we can't Obliviate them all. And the more magic we use on them, the greater the risk of them finding out about it."

"An interesting point of view," the older man allowed, "and not one I have heard argued for recently. The Dark Lord did just dismiss Muggles as inferior vermin; but then, he dismissed Harry Potter too, and look where that got him."

The discussion ranged happily, and Lucius was so impressed with the two men that he opened up about his intentions for the meeting, which they responded to very positively. They even suggested a few tweaks; such as using a Muggle name that was close enough to his own not to cause trouble if any of them accidentally used his real one. He realised that his letter had been in a very flowing script, and signed rather illegibly, so he would easily be able to use the new name.

At quarter past one, a Muggle couple walked in, and Lucius could tell immediately that they were the two he was interested in. He walked up to the man.

"Mr Grunnings?" he asked, extending a hand in greeting, and then steering them to the dining room when he nodded. "Luke Malloy. Shall we go in?"

-#-

George Grunnings had enjoyed the lunch immensely. It helped that his host had proved to be extremely genial and rather generous with the wine; and that during the meal they had discussed many topics but steered completely away from talking about Grunnings Drills. The topic was only broached when they were seated in the bar after lunch, Lucius sipping a reasonable (by his standards) cognac and George and Betty having (by Lucius's standards, awful) port, with, in Betty's case, lemon, the thought of which had made Lucius's toes curl, though he managed (just!) to keep the disgust out of his face.

"Well, Mr Malloy," George opened, "it's very kind of you to come all this way, and there's no denying it's been a slap-up meal; but I believe you had something by way of a business proposition you wanted to put to myself?"

Lucius winced inwardly at the incorrect use of the reflexive pronoun; but then, the man wasn't that far away from a barrow-boy, really, he thought. He had also worked out that George wasn't in the mood to sell; he had used Legilimancy, but to be honest, he had hardly needed to. The man was an open book to anyone with the political acumen of a Malfoy. So, just to be on the safe side, he quietly began some small compulsion charms as the man began to speak; and found, to his surprise, that his charm met a similar one, which seemed to envelop it. He looked at the Aurors out of the corner of his eye; Proudfoot had a small smirk on his face.

"Yes indeed. Ah, Proudfoot?" he said, turning to his 'personal assistant'. The Auror placed on his lap the attaché case that Lucius had given him on the drive down, and opened it up to extract the required papers (which were, in fact, the only thing in the case); as he did so, his face was hidden by its lid, and they were able to whisper to each other unseen.

"What was that charm?" Lucius asked.

"Auror special," came the reply. "Made your charm undetectable when used on Muggles. Mind, I only let you do it because he'd had his mind changed by his wife, and your charm put things back on an even keel. There should be no more problems."

Aloud, he said, as he closed the case, "I believe these are the papers you require, sir."

"Thank you," Lucius replied, and handed them to his guest. "Now, Mr Grunnings, I believe the amount was made clear to you in previous correspondence; but what perhaps may not have been clear is that my company was rather hoping that you would stay on in an advisory capacity? We appreciate that you have a vast experience in the industry which we can't hope to match, so of course we'd be delighted for you to come in whenever it suited you to do so."

These words had exactly the effect that Lucius intended: Betty's question about what he would do with himself, which had been uppermost in his mind, now vanished away.

Grunnings puffed out his chest in pride. "I must say yours is a most handsome offer, Mr Malloy," he said, "a very handsome offer; and still being able to come and go is just the icing on the cake, so to speak. Yes," and his voice trailed off as he read the papers through. They were very simple; Lucius had guessed, correctly, that someone like Grunnings would appreciate a straightforward "cash on the barrelhead" offer, and that was what he had in front of him.

With a big grin, the man took out his very ostentatious fountain pen and signed the papers with a flourish. _Excellent,_ Lucius thought. But he knew better than most the importance of following through. The man had to leave the meeting today without the slightest misgiving that he was doing the right thing. Since he cared about the staff, Lucius would pump him for information. And that should naturally get him the information he wanted.

"Wonderful!" he said, enthusiastically, and waved at the bar staff to bring more drinks. "Now, Mr Grunnings, you must tell me about the staff. All those little things, who likes a little ego-stroke, who's at war with whom, you know what I mean."

"I do indeed," Grunnings replied, and, whether it was the wine or the pleasant manner of the man in front of him, he wasn't sure; but he soon found himself telling all about the query heart-attack, and the hiring of Mr Collings, together with long, and for Lucius and the Aurors very tedious, explanations of the difficulty of finding him and the need to treat him carefully; and particularly about the obvious bad feeling between him and his deputy, Vernon Dursley.

Lucius's ears pricked up. _At last, it gets interesting, _he thought. "Mr Dursley? Has he been with the firm long?" he asked. And that was all it took – they were good for another half hour of discussion, explaining all the foibles of Vernon's over twenty years with the company.

"He must be an excellent employee to have lasted so long," Lucius suggested. And, as he hoped, this brought out the tale of the last year, when Vernon had rather blotted his copybook by disappearing for months under special police protection, apparently.

"It was all down to that no-good nephew of his," the man ranted, and Lucius had to fight to keep a lid on his temper. "I told him over the years to sling the boy out, he's a wrong 'un through-and-through; but Vernon always seemed to have a soft spot for him." It was as much as any of the three wizards could do to keep cool at this remark; and it got worse … "So I told him straight, 'you can't allow him back, Vernon. You've got to make sure the police know all about him, and get a Court Order to keep him away.' And I'm glad to say he's taken my advice, and the boy has dropped out of the picture altogether. The Dursleys, Vernon, Petunia and their son Dudley, are back in their lovely house in Little Whinging, and he hasn't put a foot wrong for the last month, so I'm hoping we're over the worst. Of course, I couldn't make him Managing Director after all the absenteeism."

"I don't suppose he took that well," Lucius suggested, as he effortlessly threaded through the man's mind with a mild Legilimens, finding the address neatly attached to the thought of Little Whinging: 4 Privet Drive, the man's mind obligingly told him, and he filed it away.

Grunnings snorted. "That's putting it mildly, Mr Malloy. No, there's no love lost between those two. Anyway, there you have the main lie of the land, so to speak. The rest of the company runs like clockwork; keep those two happy and away from each other's throats and it will all go swimmingly. Cheers!" he said, draining his glass. "Hmm," he continued, "I was going to go and talk to them this afternoon; but I think it can wait till tomorrow."

"Oh, that would be fine," said Lucius, taking the hint and standing up to bid goodbye. "I thought I might pop in later in the week to spy out the land, introduce myself around and make sure everyone knows that there won't be massive changes – you'll still be around, and the company will still be producing drills just like before."

"Yes, yes, right," Grunnings said, and he and Betty went off, very happy, and more than a little drunk in his case; Robin hoped that she was driving.

-#-

Vernon got home a little after five. There had been a meeting, all right, but not with Grunnings. No, Collings had called him in and laid into him about the sales figures for the last week. Vernon couldn't see what the problem was – they were a bit low, perhaps, but they would pick up. The man was a slave-driver, expecting constant perfection, he muttered under his breath, as he entered his house from the garage. He grunted at Petunia, raided the kitchen for snacks, and sat down in front of the television with an ale in one hand and a bowl of pork scratchings in the other.

He heard footsteps coming down the stairs; and then a voice behind him asked, "How can you eat that revolting rubbish?"

"Dudley?" he asked, flabbergasted. He turned around, not believing that his son, of all people, could say such a thing; Dudley loved pork scratchings as much as he did. Or, it seems, used to, but no longer; there he was, standing with his arms folded, clearly not impressed.

"Come on, boy, get yourself an ale and sit down," Vernon barked, waving his son to come and sit in the other armchair in the room.

Dudley looked him up and down. He had once hero-worshipped this man; but the scales had rather fallen from his eyes when Harry had left. It had become clear to Dudley, when they had left the house to seek safety from that horrible wizard they were told about, that his parents loathed his cousin; always had, always would. And it had also become clear to him that Harry had done exactly nothing to deserve that loathing; and that his own behaviour to his cousin had been despicable. He only hoped he could find the boy and make it up with him.

As a result, he now had very little respect for the walrus-sized man in front of him. He considered his father's offer, mostly so the man would not think he was being impetuous. No, he was rejecting him quite deliberately. "I don't think so," he said eventually. "I'm going to stay with Piers for a few days. See you."

And with that he picked up the duffle-bag he had brought downstairs with him, and walked out the door.

_What's got up his arse now?_ Vernon wondered to himself.

-#-

The three wizards had sat chatting in the bar for an hour after the meeting. The Aurors had asked Lucius what he had planned; he had explained his plan, such as it was. It all hinged, he stressed, on what Harry wanted. Left to him, Vernon would be hanging from a gibbet by morning; but it wasn't his revenge that was being plotted.

Truth to tell, the Aurors were rather relieved to hear this. As long as Lucius didn't breach the Statute of Secrecy, by letting Muggles know about magic, it would be hard to stop him doing what he wanted; the Ministry was not likely to be interested in prosecuting Lucius at the moment, given how important he was to the rather sensitive negotiations with the pure-bloods.

As they prepared to leave, Robin piped up, "so, you want to spy out the land? A quick visit to Little Whinging, then?"

Lucius smirked inwardly, but his face remained impassive. The man was gold, pure gold. "Did you get the address?" he asked.

Robin looked at him as though he were mad. "What do you think?" he asked.

-#-

The three wizards had pulled up across the street from Number 4, and had sat watching for some time. So far, they had been strictly observing, not taking any action. This visit was only to reconnoitre the area, Lucius had insisted; and the Aurors agreed with him. They would not want any action taken against the Muggles without Ministry approval, and a firm plan with a very high degree of success in place.

So they had sat quietly, not drawing attention to themselves, noting the perfect lawns and gardens, the well-maintained houses, and the general air of sterility that permeated the street. This was no place for children, Lucius thought; it was clear that there was no-one here who would love them the way they needed to be loved, who would tolerate footballs kicked through windows or rough-and-tumble play messing up the immaculate strips of lawn.

And as they watched, Dudley came out of Number 4, his duffle-bag slung over his shoulder, and a general air of discontent settled on him. He had been given a nice little Toyota Corolla for Christmas, having passed his driving test, with the help of a little bribery, in November. It was parked in front of the house; his parents worried that it made the street untidy, but in fact it was not the only car parked on the street every night so even if Dudley gave it a thought it would not have worried him. He was rather over worrying about what the neighbours thought. He was nearly eighteen years old; the neighbours were not his problem and he couldn't stop them thinking whatever they wanted.

He was engrossed in what he was doing; and he would never have seen the other car, anyway, with the Notice-Me-Not charm on it. As he came closer the three watching wizards could all feel the emotions pouring off the young man; it was all too clear that he was angry, upset, and desperate to get away from the house.

"That'll be Dudley, I take it?" Robin asked.

Lucius nodded.

"Might go for a walk," the Auror said matter-of-factly, and quietly got out of the car and strolled over to the Corolla. As he got close, Dudley looked up and saw him.

"Evening," Robin said, with an engaging little smile. "Lovely night."

"Yes," Dudley agreed. He wanted to get away; but there was something about this man. Somehow, Dudley felt, he would be worth talking to. He would help. He shut the hatch of his car and leant on it, striking up conversation with this new acquaintance. It wasn't twenty seconds before they were shaking hands, having introduced themselves, and talking away happily.

Proudfoot, watching from the car, shook his head in bewilderment.

"Every time!" he said.

Lucius gave him a quizzical look, and the Auror continued, "I just don't know how he does it. He goes over to people, says three words to them, and they pour out their hearts to him.

-#-

Dudley had been speaking to Robin for perhaps three minutes when something clicked in his head and suddenly he knew for certain that this stranger's appearance wasn't luck at all.

"You're a wizard aren't you?" he asked, his face containing equal parts wonder and fear.

"Yes," Robin said, with a smile. Of course, Dudley knew about wizards; he'd grown up with Harry, after all. But Robin had also already worked out that Dudley was coming to hate his parents and could prove to be a most useful ally; so he continued, calmly and candidly, "and a friend of Harry's."

The effect was exactly what he had hoped for. Dudley looked abashed, ashamed and hopeful all at once.

"How is he?" he asked. "Is he all right?"

"He's doing very well," Robin replied. "Would you like to see him?"

Dudley's head snapped up and his eyes came alive.

"Could I?" he asked, and Robin knew at once that the poor lad had all but given up hope of any relationship with his cousin. They'd have to work on that; meanwhile, Robin wasn't going to make promises he couldn't keep.

"I'll ask him," he said. "How can I get in touch with you?"

"Can you use a telephone?" Dudley asked.

Robin smiled, quite understanding that of course Dudley knew better than to assume that his new friend knew about the Muggle world. "Oh yes," he replied.

"Good. I'm going to stay at my friend Piers' house for the rest of the week; but you can ring me on my mobile."

He pulled out a scrap of paper, scribbled the number on it, and handed it to the Auror.

"I'll be in touch," Robin promised. "Stay safe, Dudley."

"Thanks, Robin," the boy replied, with his first smile for the day.

-#-

Robin gave a full report on the way back to London.

"I agree with you," Lucius replied. "A most useful ally. We shall have to consider how best to make use of this happy turn of events."

And he sat quietly for the rest of the journey, his face impassive, lost in his thoughts, letting them wander, letting a new plan come to him.

When they arrived back in London at half past six, there was a nasty twinkle in his eye and a broad grin on his face which boded no good for Vernon Dursley …

* * *

** _AUTHOR'S NOTES: _**_Grateful th__anks__ as always to Bicky Monster for another job well done!__ This chapter took time, but not much editing; but I did get some lovely feedback. _

**_Facebook: _**_In a blatant attempt to steal ideas from you all, I've set up a page called 'AchillesTheGeek', feel free to 'like' it._

___**Other locations:** You can also find this story on archiveofourown dot org._

___**Thanks:** to _all who are following and favoriting! Gives me a lovely warm feeling that you're interested. And double thanks and Bertie Bott's Beans to those who reviewed, IamACritic and MirrorFlower and DarkWind.  


_This chapter takes us in a new direction, but I've had it in mind for a while, honest. What do you think should happen next? How should Lucius punish Vernon? Or will Narcissa have the best idea? Will Harry want to see his cousin again?_


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